


the certainty of tides

by picturelyuniverse



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e24 Turnabout Intruder, First Kiss, Five Year Mission, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Original Character Death(s), Slow Burn, Telepathy, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Mind Melds, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturelyuniverse/pseuds/picturelyuniverse
Summary: For every gasping breath that he took, for every shaky mouthful of air that he breathed into Spock, how many more did those desert-bred lungs actually need? Something hot and desperate was clamping down on his insides, even as he tried to keep each breath steady. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t breathe for Spock forever. In his mind’s eye, he pictured his — their — silver lady soaring high in orbit around the planet, circling over this vast body of water. Find me, Kirk thought, feeling his lungs beginning to burn with the effort of breathing for two. Find us. Bring us home.-Post-Turnabout Intruder, Kirk grapples with returning to his captaincy and with his feelings for his First Officer as the Enterprise crew becomes embroiled in the affairs of the utopian underwater city of Ark. Everything comes to a head when the diplomatic mission is complicated with variables outside their control,  and Spock bears the brunt of the consequences.





	1. the call of the running tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the question on everyone's mind might be: what, yet another TOS episode extension fic? Is that all you’re ever going to write? Uh oops, my bad, my hand slipped? But in my defence, I promise this one is going to have a lot more plot than the previous fics I've written, at least! In essence, it's going to be a plotty TOS mission fic with a truckload of probably unnecessary world-building, a liberal dash of pseudo-science, and a very, very necessary dose of semi slow burn Kirk/Spock, inspired by the gorgeous art piece by the lovely [ghostwise](http://ghostwise.tumblr.com) as part of the [Star Trek Reverse Big Bang Challenge](https://startrekreversebang.tumblr.com).
> 
> Both of us are real excited to share both art and fic with you guys and I'll be embedding her art pieces as standalone chapters amidst the fic chapters, so keep a lookout for those ;)
> 
> Also, special thanks to all the wonderful people who beta-ed/helped with this fic: ghostwise for being the most awesome partner-in-crime ever (I think you already know but I squeal inwardly and outwardly whenever you send me your art, always rendered so gorgeously), watching and helping the fic grow from day one, [KagekaNecavi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekaNecavi) for being super game about beta-ing in a pinch despite the short notice and leaving such lovely comments that absolutely made my day, [PrairieDawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn) for offering such wonderful, valuable insights as usual even when you're busy with 101 WIPs of your own, and my IRL friend (who will only be known as R) who did a super mega ultra close reading of this fic even though she's not exactly in the fandom. If that's not true friendship, I wonder what is! I love you all <3
> 
> And now, onto the fic! Enjoy!

A sense of stillness would normally settle into Kirk’s limbs when he gazed out into the vast expanse of space on the Observation Deck. Rationally, he was aware that what he saw outside the transparent aluminium could not be space itself but rather, a complex computer simulation that mimicked what space would look like as the Enterprise sailed through at warp speed.

Yet, it gave him immeasurable security to know that his silver lady, along with all four hundred and twenty odd crew-members that lived in the bowels of this ship, was safely cruising through the great unknown, paradoxical as that sounded.

Today, however, he felt none of the usual peace.

It had been his first day back in the captain’s chair. Weeks of rigorous psychological evaluation and physicals, coupled with lingering memories (the disorientation of being in another’s body, the helpless dread at lacking a voice, at losing who he was) dredged up yet again by Janice Lester’s hearing, had taken a toll on him. A lesser man might perhaps have endeavoured to shake off the whole incident without further thought but as it was, by virtue of the captain’s stripes on his sleeves, Kirk owed it to his ship and his crew _—_ and certainly, to himself _—_ to reflect heavily upon what had transpired.

His reflection in the smooth sheen of the OD window seemed illusory and he wondered if who he was, or who he thought he was, held the same measure of transience as well.

Deep in his musings, Kirk startled slightly at the tell-tale whoosh of the automatic doors and the ensuing footsteps. At the sound of that familiar tread, he relaxed. Unbidden, a small smile played at the corners of his lips despite his dour mood.

“Spock,” he greeted without turning around, content with watching the interloper _—_ albeit an entirely welcome one _—_ come to a halt through his reflection. He beckoned his First closer with a small gesture of his head; Spock’s reflection came into view next to his in the OD window.

“Captain,” Spock acknowledged.  

A pause, in which neither man spoke, merely basking in the company of the other, and then, “If I had known that you preferred to spend time alone on the Observation Deck, I would not have offered to start a chess game with you prior to the ending of your shift.”

Guilt immediately welled up in his chest. He recalled being uncharacteristically harried as the shift dragged on, loud thoughts crowding his mind, and unceremoniously turning down his First’s offer for dinner and chess afterward. Under the weight of the Vulcan’s curious gaze, he had hurried off into the turbolift alone and headed straight to the OD. With some effort, he tore his gaze away from the depths of space and glanced at his companion. The acrid feeling ebbed away from the shores of his mind when he recognised the way Spock’s eyes shone almost teasingly in his own version of a smile. A peculiar warmth bloomed in his chest; Spock’s presence alone was clearly a show of support  _—_ and dare he say, concern  _—_ in his own taciturn way.

“Well, Mister, in that case, let me make it up to you.” Kirk was aware that his attempt at nonchalance quite frankly missed by several parsecs but couldn’t find it in himself to contain the fondness in his voice, or the softness in his grin.  

“I was not aware that recompense was necessary,” Spock returned evenly, eyebrows raised.

Kirk let out a low laugh but immediately sobered as he turned his words over in his head. Something in his First’s voice hinted that they were quite likely having a different conversation altogether. Something of a common occurrence with the Vulcan, it would seem.

“Spock,” he tried again, tone intentionally light. “You do know that I appreciate you taking care of the ship while I was, ah, away, right?”

“I am aware.” The matter-of-fact tone was belied by the way the corners of Spock’s eyes softened. “Thanks are unnecessary.”

“Not illogical?” Kirk teased, inwardly wondering just how much Spock was willing _—_ and able _—_ to concede.

Spock inclined his head. “Indeed, it is illogical to express gratitude when I am merely, as I believe the Terran colloquial term is, “keeping the captain’s chair warm” for you. Furthermore, it is illogical to worry about the state of the crew when they hold themselves to the same standards of efficiency as their captain, although I did find myself regretting the lack of your usual dynamic presence.”  

A heady rush of delight suffused him at those words. It was couched in irrefutable Vulcan logic, characterised by Spock’s usual level-headed delivery, but for all that it was indirect and roundabout, that was most certainly Spock-speak for “I have utmost faith in you and our crew, always”, possibly with an “I miss you” thrown in, if he strained his ears hard enough. He was, however, rather taken aback at the intensity of the wild thrill that ran through him at Spock’s unexpected use of that particular Terran phrase, and the rather… interesting mental images conjured by his mind.

He cleared his throat, hiding an abashed grin behind his hand. Aware of the compulsive urge to reach out physically to his Vulcan friend, he clasped his hands loosely behind his back, mirroring Spock’s own posture.

From the chronometer on the far wall, it was barely 2030h. Plenty of time for dinner and chess, and possibly catching up on the literal mountain of paperwork that must have taken up residence in his quarters in his absence. Knowing his Vulcan First Officer’s penchant for clearing paperwork, however, what awaited him was likely only a fraction of the original pile.

“I hope it’s not too late to take you up on your earlier offer.” At Spock’s answering nod, Kirk continued, “let’s meet in your quarters instead, if you don’t mind. I’d rather not subject myself to the horrors of the paperwork that await me just yet.”    

The gleam in Spock’s eyes told him that his First knew full well that Kirk’s sudden quick concession was simply a ruse to distract him from the fact that he was recompensing anyway by accommodating his need for higher temperatures.

Well, it wasn’t so much recompense as it was a means of expressing his fondness and gratitude.  And if a certain Vulcan First Officer thought "thank-you"s were unnecessary, it was only logical to find other means of expressing his gratitude, wasn’t it?

* * *

Initially, Kirk wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or annoyed that Command decided to send them on a diplomatic mission on his second day back.

While diplomatic missions did not rank highly on his list, he conceded that there were worse tasks to be assigned. Mostly, he admitted that his annoyance could be attributed to the fact that he had just spent the whole night clearing paperwork and reading through the lengthy mission brief, marked urgent, sent by Starfleet Command in the wee hours of the morning.  

Yet, despite his considerable lack of sleep, every minute spent reading the brief was well worth it. Already, he could feel the thrum of anticipation under his skin. The planet of Ark was a fascinating one, as his First would no doubt put it. A Class M planet in many aspects, but over the years, with the rise in sea levels and the sinking of the earth, its people had gone with the flow, so as to speak, and taken up residence underwater. That was close to a century ago. According to the report by Captain Mairany and his crew who first made contact with the people of Ark, the technological and socio-cultural advancements were remarkable. It was truly a display of innovation and resilience, and the sheer adaptability of its people. Certainly, the Federation could stand to gain from learning about its astounding progress.

Usually, Command preferred that the follow-up to the First Contact mission be conducted by the same crew; however, the Enterprise was currently the closest ship in the quadrant and the mission was time-sensitive. This stemmed from fact that the High Council of Ark was the one to extend the metaphorical olive branch, which was surprising to say the least. Of course, being a member of the United Federation of Planets had its benefits, but it was a pleasant surprise that such an advanced society was eager to join their ranks.

The urgency and high-stakes nature of the mission called for a brief pre-shift senior staff meeting. In the end, he decided to get the relevant landing party members in on it as well; after all, if all went well, they would be well on their way to Ark in less than a day, if Scotty could give them more power.

Shifting slightly in his seat, Kirk found himself glancing over at his First by his side who was serenely reading over the mission brief, probably for the third or fourth time. The memory of last night’s chess games and easy conversation sat like a warm weight in his chest.

As if sensing his gaze on him, Spock looked up from the PADD and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve always wondered if Vulcans could swim,” Kirk began slyly. “Or if they would enjoy a dip in the pool, at any rate.”

He got the vague sense that if Vulcans were in the habit of sighing, his First surely would have there and then. “It would appear that my ancestors did not have much cause to do so. However, Vulcans most certainly are capable of such, although most would only do so when it becomes necessary.”

“Ah, much akin to our Terran felines, I suppose.” Kirk returned with a growing smile.

As Spock’s other eyebrow climbed up his forehead to join its counterpart, the doors slid opened, admitting Bones and Scotty, with Uhura and Lieutenant Darya in tow.

“Like it or not, Spock, we’re in for a nice, long swim this time,” Bones commented wryly, slipping into the seat next to Kirk with a sideways glance at the two of them.

Across the table, Uhura smiled. “Well, Doctor, that seems like a small price to pay to visit such an interesting world. I wouldn’t mind taking a peek at their linguistics bank or watching their street performances myself!”

Darya gurgled softly in agreement; with the aid of the modified UT, she enthused, “ _I would be of delight to cross-measure Ark with my world-that-is-home, and to learn their ways of science._ ”

“Ach, I’m more interested to learn more about how they power their city myself!” Scotty interjected.

Clapping his hands together, Kirk leaned forward, waiting till the voices had quieted down. “Alright, alright, we’re all excited to see Ark for ourselves.  We’ll have plenty of time to do that but keep in mind that this diplomatic mission is key for establishing goodwill, and, hopefully, Federation membership.”

Before he could continue, Bones cut in with a frown. “Not to rain on anyone’s parade, Jim, but don’t you think Command might be jumping the gun on this just a little? We barely have a good grasp on their way of life, or the local flora and fauna, apart from the fact that they apparently used to live on solid ground like you and I, and they now cohabit with a myriad of unfamiliar sea creatures even they can’t communicate with.”

“Doctor,” Spock returned evenly. “If you had completed a thorough perusal of the report, you will find that to be an oversimplification of the state of matters on Ark. Their migration beneath the water’s surface was necessitated by an unprecedented crisis and they have adapted admirably to their new habitat.  In addition, these ocean beings which you speak of may simply have a different mode of communication instead that the inhabitants of the city may not be aware of. ”

Kirk raised a hand to forestall what he believed would soon degenerate into a battle of wits between the two. “Which is why we will have to proceed with caution and discretion when we beam down. As for the unidentified beings, we’ll have to be on our guard but keep an open mind about communicating with them.”

At that, Bones still looked vaguely like he accidentally sucked on a lemon, but appeared less likely to start a verbal fist-fight with his First; Spock, on the other hand, had a vaguely self-satisfied non-expression on his face.

Uhura was listening to the exchange with a thoughtful cant of her head. “Captain, they might possess consciousness and higher intelligence, even if they don’t have verbal language to speak of. Though I don’t know what the people of Ark would have to say about that…”

“Interesting point, Lieutenant Uhura. Let’s keep that in mind and validate our speculations when we can.” Kirk inclined his head. “As for our exchange with the people of Ark, the UT is crude but will work fairly well for our communications. I’m sure you’ll want to keep an ear out for the finer details of their language, however.” The last part was directed at Uhura, who nodded with something like excitement in her eyes.  

Glancing over at Darya, he was surprised to see that her lantern filament drooped almost all the way down her forehead and that she was resolutely gazing down at the meeting room table.  

“ _I am not of certain mind about what I can help about the interact-speak of these beings._ ” Even through the tinny quality of the UT, it did not take much to notice her halting hesitation.

Kirk wasn’t sure if his disorientating experience in Janice Lester’s body had reoriented his perspective for him, ironic as it may sound, or if it was simply him becoming more acclimatised to his crew as whole, but realisation swept through him like a draught of cool air on a hot day.

“Lieutenant,” he replied, tone gentling slightly. “If you think you’re going to be on the landing party as a bridge between the Federation and the people of Ark, I’m going to tell you that you’re partly right. We’re all going to be. But you are also going to be there in the capacity of security officer. Additionally, I’ve heard about your inclinations towards science and engineering from our First Officer here.”

“Indeed,” Spock interjected. “I look forward to your input on the mission.”

At that, Darya straightened her back, regaining some of the confident enthusiasm that graced her features at the start of the briefing.

Then, Kirk turned and cast a mildly apologetic look at Scotty. “Scotty, I’m afraid I’m going to need you up here for this one.”

He was seriously considering giving his Chief Engineer a chance to explore this engineering marvel – a treat of sorts, particularly after not including him on the landing party to the magnificent cloud city of Stratos. Still, all things considered, it was probably a wise decision not to have the hot-blooded Scotsman down in the mines tussling with the High Advisor. Besides, they needed someone to hold the fort, what with him, Spock and McCoy all beaming down.

“I dinnae about you but someone has to make sure our silver lady remains in proper condition for you lads and lasses to get back to afterward.” Scotty shrugged, running a hand over the nearby bulkhead lovingly. “But if you manage to get your hands on any kind of schematics, Captain…”

Kirk barely contained a laugh at that. “Right. Party-to-ship communications and transport were reported to be tenuous at best down there, presumably from some kind of natural interference from their city. See if you can circumvent that in some way.”

To his credit, Scotty did not balk at such a tall order, merely nodded and looked thoughtful, likely already beginning to assess the problem at hand.

“Alright, keeping in mind what we’ve discussed, feel free to participate in local activities and visit facilities as far as diplomatic duties allow. But let’s avoid intergalactic incidents this time, shall we?” Here, he cast a pointed glance at Bones who had the good grace to look at least mildly chagrined. During the previous diplomatic mission, he had accidentally gotten himself into a suturing competition with a native medic. Needless to say, he performed splendidly but the whole fiasco did not end well. “Dismissed!”

As the others began filing out of the room (Bones bumped his elbow into Kirk’s side on his way out and acted mock-surprised, that bastard), he noticed that Darya still lingered behind, along with his First. Spock was speaking to her in hushed, measured tones. Her filament bobbed up and down earnestly at intervals.

“Any problems, gentlefolk?” Kirk asked, not unkindly.

“ _I am of deep appreciation for the speak-up, Captain. And for your belief in my capabilities, Mister Spock.”_ Darya inclined her head at Spock. “ _I will turn the idea over again.”_

After she left the room, Kirk set his hip against the meeting table and leaned in toward his First. “And what kind of idea is that, Mister?” Kirk inquired with a glint in his eye.

“The lieutenant was merely indicating her interest in the sciences to me, and inquired about the possibility of changing her track from Operations to Sciences or Engineering.” Spock did not rise up to the bait, gathering the PADDs on the table into his arms.    

“Is that so,” Kirk mused, and then in a teasing tone, “thinking of poaching one of Giotto’s people for your own?”

Spock quirked a brow and did not deign it necessary to respond to that quip. “I believe that the Lieutenant will prosper, should she decide to stay in Security, or switch to Science or Engineering.”

“I trust your assessment.” Kirk clapped a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Perhaps Ark will be an insightful experience for us all.”

* * *

The transport down to Ark went as expected, save for one curious detail. As the last glimmer of the transporter beam faded from Spock’s vision, there was a sensation at the back of his mind, as if it were being faintly prodded at, that quickly vanished as the beings before them materialised into his view.  He mentally filed that away for cross-examination at a later time, and resolved to remark upon it to the captain as soon as possible.

For now, he studied their hosts, a group of six beings standing before the raised circular dais that the landing party had materialised on. They were remarkably humanoid, save for the pointed ears and the scales  _—_ in place of hair  _—_ that lay against their scalp and trailed down midway down their flattened forehead. Their iridescent skin shimmered in the glow of the bioluminescent algae that lined the walls and the arch of the cavern. Upon closer examination, the walls appeared to be lined with a thinly gelatinous material, akin to that which made up the hood of Terran jellyfishes he had seen in holo-documentaries as a child. It moved inward and outward gently, as if it were breathing.

“ _My apologies to you and your council-mates, Leader Kirk_.” One of the beings, a short, portly figure with the gold-sheened shoulder crests that marked him as High Councillor for five bloom-cycles, stepped forward and brought his palm gently to the scales on his forehead. The UT whirred away furiously as he continued. “ _Our Council Chamber doors will close for a half sun-cy_ _cle for an urgent gathering. We thus greet you here, at the place of rest for travellers. We regret any unpleasantness._ ”

Kirk carefully made the gesture of greeting in return; the rest of the landing party followed suit. As the skin of his palm connected with his forehead, Spock frowned as there was a distinct sensation of someone probing clumsily against the back of his mind yet again. There had been no mention of the inhabitants of Ark possessing any telepathic ability in the reports.

He realised belatedly that his captain was beginning to exchange the customary greetings. With a slight pinprick of surprise, he noted that there was one particular Arkian in the group, a slender, sullen being, who was set apart from the rest, both in physique and in how he was dressed. While the rest of the party of five were dressed in ceremonial togas, of which the High Councillor’s was particularly ornate, and stood barefooted, this Arkian was dressed in a modest gold-trimmed tunic that fell comfortably around his knees, ending in an intricate criss-cross of matte black fabric wrapped around his legs and feet. His hands, too, were sheathed in the same black fabric.

Fascinating.

“Why, isn’t this fancy for a glorified tourist visitor centre,” Bones remarked quietly from behind Spock, interrupting his musings.

“A tourist visitor centre, Doctor?” Spock deadpanned back in an undertone. Only a small part of him was actually engaged in the conversation; the rest of his mental energies were divided between paying attention to the proceedings around him and shoring up his mental defences.

“— Commander Spock, Chief Medical Officer McCoy, Communications Officer Lieutenant Uhura, and Security Officer Lieutenant Darya.” Kirk finished.

The High Councillor touched his fingers to his forehead again; the scales on his forehead rustled melodiously.  “ _Well met, Leader Kirk. I must admit that your council-names are most intriguing. In Ark, we are stripped of our names once we ascend into the Council Chambers._ ” Gesturing to each of his companions, he introduced them. “ _He who leads the Art Council, she who heads the Science Council, xe who enforces Law and Administration, and last of all, my aide._ ”

Then, turning his attention to Spock and Lieutenant Darya, the High Councillor smiled. “ _I am pleased to see that the Federation has the foresight to bring you both aboard on their journeys._ ”

Spock gingerly placed his fingers on his forehead, gaze respectfully averted, and watched from the corner of his eye as Darya did the same.  

“ _Perhaps the one called Darya might try at communing with the Sea-devils who have plagued our borders for so long._ ” The Arkian who had been identified as the representative of the Art Council suggested, his extra set of eyelids extending and retracting rapidly over his eyes.  The UT crackled alarmingly at the phrase, spoken almost snidely, at the end of the sentence

Having been called many derogatory terms over the course of his life, both on Vulcan and in his time in Starfleet, Spock was keenly aware of the fact that “Sea-devils” was anything but a casual label. Beside him, he grew vaguely conscious of how his captain was fuming on the inside; when Kirk spoke, he showed little indication of his growing ire. However, anyone who knew James Kirk beyond a casual encounter could feel the palpable steel in his words.

“Lieutenant Darya is here strictly in the capacity of security personnel. Lieutenant Uhura is the specialist in Linguistics and Communications.”

Before the representative could reply, the unusually slender Arkian that Spock had been scrutinising stepped forward rather unexpectedly.

“ _I cannot carry the words for the —_ ” here, the UT sputtered momentarily, and resumed again, “ _Sea-dwellers, but I believe that if they had the words, they would speak with us._ ” 

Spock was certain that the discrepancy in the terms used to refer to the mysterious beings that lived outside of the city borders was no accident. Kirk raised an eyebrow but made no comment. The exchange of significant glances between the other beings in the party of six, however, was curious indeed.

“ _Ah, my memory must be leaving my mind-shores_ _. This is my son, Como. Please excuse him, he is still learning the ways of the Council,”_ The High Councillor cut in smoothly, silencing the other Arkian with a look. Turning once more to face the landing party, he gestured at his aide. “ _Come, let us escort you and your party to a place more suited for talk and rest. My aide will take you to the Hub, where you may find your hearth-places, and be treated to our city sights._ ”

* * *

The journey to the Hub was truly fascinating, to borrow a word from his First’s repertoire.

Soon after the Council members departed for the Chambers, Kirk and the landing party realised that the beam-down point was, in fact, a large biomimetic floating pod modelled after an organism that bore an uncanny resemblance to the jellyfishes on Earth. It was one of many interconnected pods on the outskirts of the city, where weary travellers or holidaying families stayed for several sun-cycles. The hoods of each pod were highly malleable despite their tensile strength, and the material could remodel itself to serve as transport vessels of variable sizes. It was strangely reminiscent of the vesicles that pinched off the ER in eukaryotic cells a young Jim Kirk had learnt about in Biology class years before even joining the Academy.

As if sensing his thoughts, Spock spoke up from beside him, “Ark seems remarkably comparable to a eukaryotic cell in its functionality and appearance.”

Kirk paused in his survey of the luminescent algae blooms drifting in the passing currents. He could already hear the imminent exclamation of “fascinating” brewing on the horizon and he allowed himself a fond smile. He wasn’t actively trying to keep track of it but he was almost certain that this would be the fifth time in the past half hour that his First had verbalised his admiration for the Arkian world.

The faint outline of the Hub materialised as their vessel drew nearer.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bones breathed, and let out a whistle.

The smooth sheen of the Hub’s dome glistened faintly, underscored with pockets of glittering bioluminescence and vibrant splashes of colour, courtesy of a myriad of algae and coral-like creatures. As their vessel drew close to one section of the dome, a particularly garish spot of colour drew away from the surface of the dome, revealing itself to be an amorphous shoal of tiny fish startled by the imminent contact. Through the translucent window exposed by the fish, just barely visible to the human eye, the spires of buildings reached up like little fingers of spiral shells, and even tinier silhouettes _—_ shuttles or Arkian citizens, he could not tell _—_ darted in between and around them.

Uhura was all but pressing her face up to the protective surface of their vessel; she let out a peal of laughter, drawing away in surprise, when the malleable vessel surface tried to mold itself around her. Beside her, Darya warbled in wonder; the UT did not _—_ or could not  _—_  try to translate her exclamation into Standard.

Kirk waited for a beat, and then —

“Fascinating,” Spock murmured, reaching out a hand to gently trace unintelligible patterns into the vessel surface.

Ah, there it was. Kirk grinned, not just at the spectacle that was the Hub laid out before him, but at the soft wonder in his Science Officer’s gaze. Knowing Spock, he could have been tracing out how well those spires fit the Fibonacci sequence. His grin widened.

“ _Esteemed guests of the Federation, kindly step away from the vessel window and onto the dais, we will be approaching the Hub in one angler-blink,”_ the aide intoned as he made a series of complicated hand motions over the control panel of the vessel.

The five of them dutifully stepped onto the platform that emerged in the centre of the vessel. As the outer surface moulded itself seamlessly with the dome surface, the bioluminescent algae overhead cast an ethereal sheen over the interior of the vessel. Kirk found himself drawn to how the green-blue light spilt across the planes of Spock’s face, over the sweep of his brows and gently down the slope of his prominent nose, forming a faint halo around that cap of dark hair and throwing the points of his ears into sharp relief. Then, they passed under a dark spot and his face was plunged into darkness.

The docking of the transport platform shook him out of his reverie.

“ _If your feet are not weary, we may continue onto the tour of the Hub before you adjourn to your quarters._ ” The aide gestured for them to step off the platform, handing them each a small gelatinous sphere that fit easily in the palm of a hand. _“Moldable exo-skins courtesy of the Council, for when you journey to parts of the Hub that carry the currents of the ocean. Once again, many apologies on behalf of the Council for the lack of presence-company._ ”

“We understand the urgency of the Council gathering, and we thank you for your Council’s gifts and hospitality,” Kirk returned and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “We would be glad to be acquainted with your city.”

“ _We accept your gifts with the gratitude of the ocean currents,_ ” Uhura added, and repeated the gesture of respect. The aide looked vaguely pleased even as he went onto instruct them on how to equip themselves with the exo-skin, going so far as to part his mouth in a grin of acquiescence when Spock respectfully requested permission to conduct a few tricorder scans on the exo-skins.

Kirk felt a swell of pride for his crew and did not bother hiding his smile. He had never doubted his crew. He never wanted to give reason for them to doubt him either, but he wondered if recent events might have shaken their faith in him. The smile faded slightly from his face.

“The exo-skins appear to be compatible with our and Darya’s physiology,” Bones confirmed as he snapped his own tricorder shut. “Honestly, I’m not certain that Darya will even need it. As for the hobgoblin, my only concern is that the automated conversion of dissolved oxygen from the water may not be quite as sufficient for those large desert-bred lungs of his.” Then, turning to Spock, he pinned him with a warning glare. “If you so much as feel a smidgeon of light-headedness, you give me a holler, you got it?”

Spock inclined his head; his First’s serenity did nothing for the tingle of unease that spread across the back of Kirk’s neck.

“ _Federation guests,_ _if you would please equip your exo-skins and follow me into the waterways_ ,” the aide instructed.

The slide of the exo-skin over his exposed arms and face only amplified his disquiet but he resolutely set it aside until he could act on it later. Trusting his instincts was one thing; letting his instincts supersede all other thought processes was another matter entirely.

He glanced over to see Spock tapping experimentally at the exo-skin, eyebrows climbing steadily up as the exo-skin around his fingers joined and broke off from the exo-skin over his forearm.

“ _The exo-skins are tuned to your bio-codes and thought processes_ ,” the aide explained as he shepherded them toward the opening of the waterway. “ _We will be visiting the Science and Medical laboratories in due time. You may find many questions laid to rest in the ocean-bed there._ ”

Kirk had experienced a multitude of strange things in his time as captain of the Enterprise but travelling through the Arkian waterways _—_ like the slides of old Terran playgrounds but a lot faster and a lot more technologically advanced  _—_ while clad in bioengineered jellyfish skin was beginning to look like it could be a contender for the first few spots on that list.  

“ _Is that the residing place of the Council Chambers?_ ” Darya murmured curiously as the currents directed them around one of the tallest spires they’ve seen yet.

As they dipped down closer, Kirk squinted at the silhouette of a familiar figure _—_ the High Councillor’s son  _—_ scurrying down the steps of the entrance to the Chambers. Was he not meant to be in the gathering as well? The Arkian ducked under the awning of an adjacent building and emerged, hood drawn over his head, hand-in-hand with another figure. The skin on the latter’s head was conspicuously bare, without the iridescent scales characteristic of every inhabitant of Ark they had seen thus far. The duo paused just outside the awning, for Como to carefully draw the hood over his companion’s head in a strangely intimate gesture. Then, the two of them joined hands again and took off.

As the aide and their little party of five swerved away on the currents, he exchanged a glance with Spock, intent on voicing his suspicions in an undertone but Spock was resolutely looking ahead. His visage was impassive as always but the faint green mottling his cheeks seemed to be the product of something other than the occasional passing light from the algae.

Ah, yes. The sensitivity of Vulcan hands. He felt an answering flush creep up the back of his neck. He inwardly cursed his fair skin; more valiantly, he tried to stamp down the urge to reach out for his First’s hand.

Perhaps, as was universal to youth across the galaxies, Como was merely shirking his duties as councillor-in-training for a clandestine meeting with his beau. Nothing more.

Yet, as the currents that carried them closer to the Museum of the Arts started to ebb, the feeling of unease did not abate.

* * *

The Hub was truly a marvel in many different aspects. As the tour progressed, their landing party had gradually been whittled down in numbers, and justifiably so. Lieutenant Uhura was the first one to request permission to stay on at one of their stops on the tour; she was particularly drawn to the Linguistics Bank and all that it held. As the rest of the party departed from the Museum of the Arts, she was seen to be in deep conversation with one of the Bank-keepers, a stout Arkian whose iridescent scales trailed far down the back of her neck.

The next one of their party to request permission to leave was Doctor McCoy. If it was in Spock’s habit to express surprise, he would have done so when the doctor requested, with a growing gleam in his eye, to take a closer look at some of the “insanely advanced stuff they’ve got here” in the medical wing of the Gallery of the Sciences. Kirk, on the other hand, merely laughed, teasing McCoy about how “you were sulking the whole time, right up till you walked in here and love lit into your eyes!”

Now, it seemed that Lieutenant Darya would be quite content with wandering the halls of the Gallery of the Sciences for a good few hours. The lantern filament atop her head had been curling and unfurling with excitement for the past quarter-hour and understandably so. Spock, too, would have gladly stayed on to discuss the finer details of the inner-workings of the Dome and the science behind the Hub’s design. However, he recognised that he had a duty to inform his captain of the disquieting experience of the mind-probe earlier on, and if that somehow allowed him to spend a few moments longer alone with his captain, it was only logical to do so.

As the Lieutenant eagerly departed for one of the immersive exhibits, Spock was beginning to realise that he might have erred in his logic. Kirk was most certainly trying to bait him. Into what, however, he was still trying to ascertain.

He noticed that every time he uttered “fascinating” with regard to something _—_ an exhibit, a passing visitor, or even just a casual observation about the Arkian world and its people in general _—_ Kirk pointed out or drew his attention to, his companion’s grin grew impossibly wider. What could his captain possibly be trying to achieve?

“Well, Mister Spock, looks like it’s just down to the two of us,” Kirk announced, bumping an elbow against his companionably as they finally exited the museum. When Spock canted his head toward the High Councillor’s aide, who had unobtrusively hastened his pace just sufficiently to be a good few metres in front of them, Kirk merely shrugged and beamed at him again most inexplicably.

Spock watched with a sense of detached fascination and a growing awareness of the quickening of his heartbeat in his side as Kirk bent his head close toward his and parted his lips, as if to speak. It was highly illogical but for a moment, Spock was almost certain that his captain was about to press his lips to his. Most illogical.

He was interrupted by the aide suddenly coming to a halt and turning to the two of them abruptly.

“ _Leader Kirk, Commander Spock, the Council Chambers call for me_.” The unflappable aide was uncharacteristically flustered, just short of wringing his hands. “ _I must return in as few angler-blinks as I can. I can show you the place to rest your feet_ _now, if you wish?_ ”

As it was, the flow of speech, agitation palpable in every word, was almost too quick for the UT to catch. Kirk exchanged a glance with Spock, his face immediately settling into a mask of professionalism, as if the teasing _—_ dare he say, flirtatious _—_ quality moments ago never existed.

“We understand the urgency of your being summoned,” Kirk began carefully, spreading his arms as he continued, “we believe it’s unnecessary to compromise your duties for our sake. With your permission, we would remain in the Hub and rendezvous with you and your Council at a later timing, ah, one that suits your Council, that is.”

The aide looked considerably more mollified at Kirk’s proposal. “ _Our Council thanks thee, Leader Kirk. I will return as swiftly as the currents allow. We will contact you through your exo-skins.”_ He touched his fingers to his forehead and quickly departed, not even waiting for Kirk’s returning gesture.

Kirk looked vaguely unsettled but made no comment. Turning to Spock, he asked, “where to now, Mister?”

“I was under the impression that we were to wait for the aide’s return,” Spock countered.

Kirk chuckled. “Spock, sometimes I wonder if you’ve really lived among Humans for as long as you say you have. Other times, I wonder if you’re just playing us.”

“Playing us, Captain?” Spock inquired innocently. He absently noted that the corners of Kirk’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

The lull in the conversation accorded him the chance to impart the news about the unusual mind-presence he felt probing him earlier on. Irrationally, he realised that he did not wish to do so because it would undoubtedly result in the loss of the easy cordiality of their conversation.

“Captain,” Spock began, uncharacteristically at a loss for the right words. “I must first report that barring the influence of hallucinogens or other similar external influences, I have most likely been subjected to a probe by an unfamiliar mind-presence.”

“What?” Kirk uttered, his face immediately falling into tense, almost angry, lines. His voice had gone deceptively quiet. “And you didn’t think to tell me this until now? How long ago was this?”

“Approximately one point one five hours ago, sir,” Spock returned crisply, hands unconsciously clasping behind his back in perfect military parade rest.

As quickly as the anger came into his features, it left.

Kirk sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Right, before the aide took us on the tour. Couldn’t you possibly have found a way to tell me earlier?” Kirk’s voice was pained. Spock found himself uncertain as to why it was so.

“I assumed  that it would be in our best interests not to discuss this in the presence of our hosts. I apologise if my logic was in error.” Spock heard the edge in his own voice but could not prevent it from manifesting itself in his speech.

“Alright, alright,” Kirk replied, his tone becoming infinitesimally gentler. “It’s just that I’ve been having this, ah, this feeling, if you will, ever since we beamed down, that there is more to the Arkians than we’ve been told. What you said was just the last straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Was it not you who said that sometimes a feeling is all we have to go on?” Spock pointed out, not bothering to even question the illogically metaphorical turn of phrase Kirk had just used. Vulcans had excellent memory; it was only natural that he would remember the words Kirk uttered, even if the captain himself had forgotten it.

A pause, and then, “I did, didn’t I?” Kirk’s voice was ponderous but his gaze, raking slowly across Spock’s face, was anything but. The ensuing smile, spreading slowly and then all at once, was like a Vulcan sunrise.

Then, Kirk’s gaze hardened. “The mind-probe, could you tell who was on the other end of it?” Spock closed his eyes briefly when Kirk reached out a hand to grip his shoulder gently. Lowering his voice to an almost intimate register, Kirk asked, “and you, you’re alright?”

“I believe that whoever was on the ‘other end’, as you put it, was an untrained telepath, but one of considerable telepathic abilities.” Spock schooled his features as best as the hammering heartbeat in his side would allow him to but softened the lines of his face when he replied to the latter part of Kirk’s inquiry. “I am also unharmed.”

“Good,” Kirk muttered almost vehemently and did not release his grip. Using his hold on Spock’s shoulder as leverage, he gently steered him over to the side of the entrance as a matronly Arkian exited from the museum, followed by a group of young Arkians who rushed down the steps. Likely schoolchildren on a field trip, or possibly simply a group of children on a day out with their guardian.

“Damn, we should have asked the aide for clothing more suited for the occasion.” Spock concurred with his captain’s assessment, particularly after noting that at least seventy per cent of the passing Arkians had turned to cast curious glances at them. Not that appropriate wear would have completely disguised their obviously alien features from the Arkians. “Come on. Let’s get ourselves to somewhere less conspicuous. Maybe we can get to the bottom of whatever the Council is trying to hide from us in the meantime.”

Spock quirked a brow but did not comment on his phrasing; he merely followed his captain in equipping his exo-skin, and without hesitation, stepped off into one of the smaller waterways that ran parallel to the street behind Kirk.

* * *

Spock stumbled slightly, caught on a particularly strong errant current as he stepped off the waterway after Kirk. Kirk absently reached out a hand to his arm to steady him.

“Captain,” Spock cleared his throat, feeling unexpectedly bereft as Kirk went a few paces away to peer over a squat, circular wall that was encrusted with a thick, kelp-like material in certain spots. “May I inquire as to where we are heading?”

He was not altogether familiar with the layout of the Hub but from what little he pieced together from the past mission report, coupled with his observation of their route they took and the amount of time they spent in the waterway, they were well outside the boundaries of what had been charted  by Starfleet so far. The streets here were considerably darker than the areas they had been to while on the tour; only a few loose tufts of bioluminescent algae glowed dimly on the walls and the ground. The buildings lining the roads were also much shorter _—_ and dare he say, shoddier in workmanship _—_ compared to the grand spires in the heart of the Hub. The streets themselves were lightly flooded with murky water that seeped into the edges of the walls, leaving faint water stains.

It was a far cry from the splendour of the city centre.

“Why, don’t you trust my navigational skills, Spock?” Kirk asked, circling back closer to him, hands on his hips and a smile on his slightly upturned face. The tone of his voice was comparable to when he was making a calculated gamble on the bridge; yet, it was also oddly similar to the tenor of his playful banter over their late night chess games.

Spock was struck by the flecks of green in his eyes, set in uneven distances from each other round the starburst of his irises. It was so quiet, save for his breathing and the distant trickle of running water, that it was almost within the bounds of logic to believe that he could hear the sweep of Kirk’s lashes as he blinked.

Before he could formulate a reply, out of the corner of his eye, a dark shape, small and slight in stature, flitted around and onto the wall. Kirk’s gaze trailed after his as Spock followed the figure _—_ likely that of a young child _—_ with his eyes up and over the wall but not before it became evident that the child had distinctly webbed feet and hands, and a lack of the cranial scales that were characteristic of the Arkians.

“Captain, I believe that we have found our “lead”, as you might say,” Spock supplied, raising an eyebrow at the thoughtful look that entered Kirk’s gaze.

“Agreed,” Kirk murmured. Spock could feel his eyebrow hiking up further as his captain back-pedalled away from the wall in a light trot. “I’m going to need you to give me a boost.”

With that, he made a running leap, hands just barely scrabbling onto the top of the wall. Spock noted distantly that his heart-rate accelerated by approximately 5 beats per minute while watching his captain execute the jump; he reminded himself that while Kirk was not a man of particularly tall stature by Terran standards, he more than made up for that with his ingenuity and his strength.

“Now would be good, Spock,” came Kirk’s slightly strained voice as his booted feet kicked at the dirt wall.

Spock dutifully boosted his captain up and onto the ledge, careful not to let his fingers linger round the curve of his calves for longer than necessary. Briefly, he marvelled at that fact that he never quite noticed how Kirk had rather small-sized feet for a man of his build.

Reaching up, he was both relieved and disappointed, irrationally so, that Kirk grabbed him by his forearms (and not his hands) to pull him up. Just as he angled his body to follow Kirk down the other side of the wall, the sensation of a mind _—_ no, many minds _—_ probing at his, like thousands of tiny pins scratching at the base of his skull, distracted him sufficiently for him to lose his balance on his way down. His right ankle protested at the jarring impact but held its ground; his left knee, however, scraped a painful path down the side of the wall.

Kirk’s hands were on his shoulders immediately. “Spock,” Kirk asked, voice low and urgent, “Spock, what’s wrong? Is it the mind-probe again?”

Spock did not trust his capability for speech at the moment and only nodded as the captain leant his body over his, in what he recognised as a protective stance.

“I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship USS Enterprise. Identify yourselves!” As he shored up his telepathic shields as best as he could, he heard Kirk’s voice calmly intoning the command.  

Spock grew cognizant of the fact that there were several beings, at once familiar yet distinctly different from the Arkians, crowded around them in a loose semi-circle. At the front of the group stood the slight figure they had first seen before they vaulted over the wall. The being had a considerably more bulbous forehead than any Arkian they had seen, perhaps with the exception of the High Councillor’s Son, and was lined with many markings that swirled and arched over their reptilian eyes and thicker-set eyebrows; the markings ended thickly over the ridge in the centre of the face that contained two narrow breathing slits. Their skin did not gleam iridescent like the Arkians, nor did they have scales atop their heads. They wore simple tunics, mere scraps of clothing that appeared to be fashioned out of myriad of organic material, not unlike kelp.

The beings were strangely silent; the leader _—_ a logical assumption for now _—_ pressed webbed hands to the single crescent-shaped shell that hung on a chain around their neck. A pause, and then the leader took a step forward. Behind them, the others swayed and leaned into each other, webbed limbs pressing up against each other. The sensation in his mind intensified almost exponentially but it was a blunt and all-encompassing pressure this time, as if they were all clambering into his mind all at once. Distantly, he wondered at the similarity between their mind-touch and the significantly clumsier one he experienced when they first beamed down onto Ark but found he could not concentrate as well as he expected.

He must have made a noise because Kirk’s hand came to rest gently at the nape of his neck, and his fingers soothed at the base of his head. Kirk’s voice, however, was anything but gentle. “You will cease your telepathic assault on my First Officer and identify yourselves at once.”

The gills around the leader’s neck puckered and flared in agitation. All around, the other beings followed suit, and the fin-ridges lining their limbs _—_ unnoticeable while quiescent _—_ flared upward and outward.

“Jim,” Spock warned, feeling like he was talking through a mouthful of water or as if he himself were submerged in water. It was suddenly vital to establish tactile contact with his captain, to press his palms, _that which held speech_ , to Kirk, to feel the curve of his shoulders, the movement of his jaw, to feel the answering slide of ( _webbed fin_ ) fingers against his. _How else can they learn the mind-speech, the mind-words of another?_

And then, just as suddenly as the tension ratcheted, it dissipated  _—_ _like the coldness in the currents when the blooms are ripe but they always return —_  and the reason was immediately apparent. Five heavily armed Arkians, identified by the crests on their shoulders to Council Guards, shot out of a waterway overhead, landing in an offensive formation around the beings, the _Dwellers of the Sea_ . The waterway closed quickly, sealing like _the seam of a ravenous sea-clam’s mouth._

“ _Begone, Sea-devils!_ ” The head guard commanded with a sharp jab of his electrified trident. The other guards fenced them in, tridents raised.  The agitation and fear was palpable in the air. The leader stepped backward, arms spread in a protective gesture around their little ragtag group. One of the beings, slender and waif-like, puffed out their chest, fin-ridges flaring at the guard in front of them, only to recoil when the guard struck them with the flat side of the trident. They crumpled to the ground, not making a sound. Instantly, pain spiked through Spock’s skull and radiated down his neck; his limbs felt strangely enervated and he could not help listing slightly into Kirk’s side, feet not quite holding his weight.  

“ _Leader Kirk and Commander Spock_ ,” one of the guards intoned as he approached, breaking off from the formation at the head guard’s hand gesture. “ _The Council calls for you and your people. You must return at once._ ”   

“And why is that?” Kirk demanded. Then, crouching slightly, he spoke in an undertone to Spock, “we need to get you out of here.”

“ _The currents will not wait. We must depart now. The news will be conveyed to you within the Chambers._ ” The head guard shook his trident for emphasis. “ _Two will escort you. Leave now._ ” 

Another guard broke off from the formation to flank Kirk and Spock, reopening the waterway with a quick slashing motion of the trident. Spock felt the butt of the trident prodding against his back; Kirk bristled beside him, fingers tightening against his shoulder. 

“I am cap… capable of moving.” Spock managed. He struggled to his feet, only slightly off-balance as he staggered into the waterway, Kirk’s arm wrapped carefully around him.

As the currents closed mutely over his exo-skin, he felt, rather than heard, the shrill clank of the trident, and a high-pitched keening, as if someone were scraping the underside of a bowl with four points of a fork.  

It faded slowly as the currents carried them away but he could not stop the shudders that ran through his body at the echo of _pain loss anger_ that lingered in the darkened place at the back of his mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem [Sea Fever](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54932/sea-fever-56d235e0d871e) by John Masefield, a poem that I've associated with Captain Kirk for the longest time. Somehow, the visceral sense of sea-longing always reminded me of how Kirk's first and best destiny will and always shall be to be on that bridge.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'll be posting the inspo for each chapter's title (they're all bits and bobs from poems, some old favourites, some newfound gems) in the chapter notes!


	2. infinity times infinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the first of the gorgeous art pieces that ghostwise made for the fic! This one is the accompanying piece to the OD scene in Chapter One *o* Chapter/artwork title from the song [Sun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOQrfLFDUKY) by Sleeping At Last, as suggested by said amazing artist. You can give the song a listen in the link above!


	3. losing my way, wildly blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Five Chinese Verses](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/145165/five-chinese-verses) by Wendy Xu.
> 
> TW: moderately graphic depiction of death (in the context of a medical examination) after the last scene break. If you wish to skip it, I've included a brief summary of the scene in the chapter notes at the end!

Anger simmered under Kirk’s skin as he and Spock were escorted into the Council Chambers.  They’d been played, of that he had no doubt. The splendour of the city tour, the shock of encountering the so-called “Sea-devils” (who could not have been more than mere children), and finally, the thrilling rescue by the Council Guards and the subsequent summon to their famed Council Chambers. Things added up just a little bit too nicely. Kirk did not trust in coincidences; putting one’s faith in coincidences in this business never boded well.

His crew who, flanked by four guards, had been lingering at the steps of the Chambers fell into step behind them as they ascended to the entrance.

“What’s going on, Jim?” Bones hissed and then, noticing Spock’s pinched expression and unsteady steps, “and what the hell happened to the hobgoblin? You two look like you’ve seen the devil.”

Kirk gave a mirthless smile. Poor choice of wording, Bones. Right now, he was likely not that far off the mark, but Kirk was not so certain if it was the Sea-dwellers who should be the ones that deserved such an epithet.

“Captain,” Uhura cut in urgently. “Back in the Linguistics Bank, the Keepers had a rather old section on the sea beings that I looked up on. There are some heavy implications for the relationship between them and the Arkians.”

Kirk gave her a curt nod. “Acknowledged, Lieutenant. I’ll get that full report from each of you later.”

Just a little behind him, Spock was awfully silent, likely concentrating on getting each step out of the way. He had gently but firmly shrugged off Kirk’s arm after they alighted from the waterway, insisting on walking on his own two feet. So far, he managed to do so. However, under the glow of algae that adorned the arch of the Chambers, his face looked drawn and pale. Kirk was still in the dark about most of what happened during the telepathic encounter but there was no denying that those Sea-dwellers, young as they were, were formidable telepaths.

Next to Spock, Darya was murmuring something in an undertone. Her filament was curling and uncurling lightly in distress, her eyes wide. Kirk sincerely hoped that putting her on this landing party was not the biggest mistake this side of the galaxy; much as he knew that it was an inevitable fact of life in Starfleet, he still hated it when he had to watch the light in the eyes of a young lieutenant or ensign go out.

“ _Federation guests, we apologise for the hasty summon_.” As they entered through the frosted glass doors, the High Councillor, looking harried, rose up from the centre seat – an elegant high-backed chair lined with spikes reminiscent of sea urchins of Earth, set on a raised dais. Around him, the various council representatives sat, stony-faced and straight-backed, in similar seats, albeit smaller in stature.

“High Councillor, we respectfully ask for an explanation for your summoning us here,” Kirk began, reflexively pressing his fingers to his forehead.

Before he could continue, the aide, who had been standing quietly beside the High Councillor’s seat, stepped forward. He did not return the gesture, instead wringing his hands as he announced with great agitation, “ _the High Councillor’s son has disappeared from our currents, and his companion has been found murdered at our borders_.”

All around, the representatives broke out in angry mutters; the sounds of heated discussion reverberated off the coral-reinforced ceilings and high pillars of the Chambers. The Enterprise crew stood in a shocked silence. Kirk’s mind was racing ahead at warp speed with the possibilities and implications of his and Spock’s encounter with the Sea-dwellers earlier on, and the brief glimpse he had caught of the clandestine meeting between Como and his companion.

The High Councillor raised a hand for silence; Kirk noted that his hand was shaking slightly as he did so. The prospect of losing his son must be quite a blow.  

“ _There is no need to alarm our guests so. And we do not know for sure that his… companion was murdered_ , _”_ the High Councillor returned with a frown. “ _We ourselves shape the currents, and not they us._ ”

From the hush that befell the room momentarily after those words were spoken, Kirk presumed that they were ceremonial ones, or at least, words that held great importance for the Arkians.

Then, the leader of the Science Council nodded thoughtfully and she added, “ _indeed, my council-mates will be looking into the matter as we speak_.”

The sudden sound of scraping needles against glass echoed in the room as one of the chairs was pushed out of formation. If Spock winced slightly, almost imperceptibly, at the noise, only Kirk was aware; he, too, was reminded of the Sea-Dweller’s ghastly, pained keening. The lights flickered, then dimmed.

“ _The currents shape us when we do not look_.” The Art Council representative’s voice swelled as he slammed his palms onto the centre table. “ _If we truly shape the currents ourselves, we would not let the enemy, those damned Sea-devils, slip onto our shores and murder and kidnap our people._ ”

“ _Enough_.” The High Councillor was visibly trembling with emotion. “ _I_ _will hear no more of this within these Chambers, and as long as I am High Councillor for this bloom-cycle._ ”

“With all due respect, High Councillor,” Kirk interjected, “perhaps we may be of assistance in your investigation.”

The Art Council representative who had returned sullenly to his seat at this point looked as though he was about to rise up again with another retort.

“ _Ah, but you and your crew must be weary_ ,” the aide cut in smoothly. All previous signs of anxiety were absent as he affected the composed tone a la tour guide. “ _Please allow us to bring you to your quarters for rest._ ”

“ _We would be gratified to return with your currents_ ,” Uhura answered as she made the gesture of respect. The rest of the crew hastily followed suit.

Kirk was surprised at her quick acquiescence but only smiled outwardly and seconded her response; he would have thought that she would want to get to the bottom of things, with the way she had been clenching and unclenching her hands ever since they had met outside the Chambers. He recognised _—_ as she likely did, too _—_ that pressing the issue was perhaps not the wisest idea at this time. It made more tactical sense to retreat and regroup for the time being and get everyone up to speed, considering the state of their crew (Spock was steadily improving ever since they left the outskirts but he wasn’t going to take any chances) and the state of the High Council.

He caught Uhura’s eye as they turned to follow the aide to leave the Chambers and gave her a quick nod, to which she ducked her head and hid a smile. Darya and Spock followed without a word; Bones, on the other hand, was positively fuming. Kirk knew to expect a rather explosive reaction later in the quarters they would be shown to.

Just as they exited the doors, four guards peeled away from the outer rim of the Chambers to flank their crew. “ _For protection in these dark times_ ,” the aide explained without being prompted. Kirk raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

* * *

Apparently, protection meant the continued presence of these guards outside their quarters long after the aide had departed. Kirk asked for Spock to bunk with him because he did not trust his First to look after his own well-being sometimes; only later did he realise how his request sounded to the aide, who somehow managed to smile both suggestively and with understanding at the same time.

The problem now, however, was how they were going to rendezvous with the rest of the crew who were equally scattered in their own rooms. Kirk would be damned before he let something  _—_ or someone else _—_ catch them off-guard again. Regardless, they were fortunate to remain together so they could plan their next move.

Spock had slipped into a shallow meditative trance almost immediately after they were left alone in the room. A few minutes later, as if sensing Kirk’s growing restlessness, he stirred from his cross-legged position in the middle of the bed, a large, opulent-looking thing, large enough for two and then some, covered with a downy sea-silk duvet.

"How are you holding up?" Kirk asked. The closed doors at least granted them the illusion of privacy.

Spock looked at him, his gaze tired but steady. "I am sufficiently well, Captain. We must find a means of communicating with the others. There is much we do not know, and, even more troubling, much they do not want us to know."

"We're in agreement then," Kirk said. "I hadn't counted on us being kept under guard. This might prove a little trickier than expected.”

"As you say," Spock inclined his head slightly. "We shall have to employ subtlety in our rendezvous with the others."

As if on cue, a loud banging started up at the door. Outside the door came the low tones of the guards and familiar muffled cursing. Employing subtlety, indeed.

Kirk stopped pacing up and down the length of the bed – the only damn bed in the room! – and shouted “Come!” at the closed door.

The commotion outside ceased but no answer was forthcoming. Kirk yanked the door open with more force than was necessary, and was met with the sight of Bones engaged in a staring contest with the two guards, Uhura and Darya a few paces behind him.

At Kirk’s appearance, Bones demanded, seemingly not for the first time, “I have an injured crew-member in there, and I need to take a look at him. Now I’m going to ask you again, are you going to stop me from doing my damn job?”

Quickly catching on, Kirk nodded. “Commander Spock’s in pretty bad shape. I’m going to need my CMO to check on him.” Casually, he leaned the door close with his hip; through the sliver of space that remained, he saw Spock starting to get up from the bed, and shook his head minutely. Glancing back at the guards, the younger of which was beginning to waver, Kirk added, “he got hurt in a run-in with a few of your, ah, Sea-devils.”

The word tasted like ash on his tongue but it had the desired effect. The older guard gave a sympathetic sneer while the younger guard looked vaguely nauseated. Bones brushed past them without so much as another word once they lowered their tridents.

When Darya and Uhura stepped forward to follow, the two tridents locked together in a screech bare inches from Darya’s shocked face.

“Can you not see that these, ah, ladies have been shaken by recent events as well?” Kirk interjected in as genuine a tone as he can muster. Shaken, yes _—_ as they all were _—_ but incapable of doing their job? Never. Well, the guards didn’t have to know that.

Mentally, he apologised to the two lieutenants. Ordinarily, he would never refer to them as anything other than ‘officers’ or ‘crewmembers’ but something told him that that was just the extra push the guards needed.

The guards exchanged glances for a moment. Uhura made an effort to hunch her shoulders a bit more; Darya’s filament gave a singular distressed curling motion. The more senior of the two gave a nod, and the rest of the crew filed into the room.

Once Uhura shut the door behind them, Bones blurted out in frustration, “Jim, just how am I supposed to check on the hobgoblin without any medical equipment, not even my damn tricorder?”

The aide had instructed them to surrender their communicators and phasers, and all other equipment, basically, to the guards for “safe-keeping” a little while back, although from whom remained to be seen.

“Doctor,” Spock replied before Kirk could reply. “I am much recovered after the trance. I believe we should instead focus on the matter at hand.”

Kirk allowed himself a moment to feel relieved at Spock’s recovery. He doubted he would forget the way Spock stumbled into his side when they had encountered the Sea-dwellers anytime soon.

Bones looked like he was mere seconds away from popping a vein.

“Bones,” Kirk warned. “We know there’s a lot more to what the Arkians are telling us. Heck, a lot more to what they’re not telling us. We’re going to have to tread carefully.”

“We’re practically under house arrest and you want us to play nice?” Bones asked incredulously. “Do we even know why we’re under house arrest?”

“We’re about to fill all of you in on that,” Kirk replied grimly, consciously ignoring Bones’ rising ire.  

Sharing a meaningful look with Spock, Kirk nodded, and Spock immediately launched into an explanation, brief but sufficient. “I encountered a mind-probe upon beaming down onto the planet surface. Approximately one point two hours after that, the captain and I encountered a group of beings who we now know to be the Sea-dwellers. I was subjected to telepathic contact, presumably from multiple beings within the group. Judging from their appearance, they seem to be no more than adolescents of their species.”

Well, contact was one way of putting it. Kirk wasn’t so sure if it was so much contact as it was a full-blown assault, judging from the way Spock had reacted.

Uhura looked immensely thoughtful, swinging her legs slightly from her perch on the edge of the bed; Bones equally if not more so, albeit with a larger frown on his face.  

Darya raised a hand. Then, as if realising that she didn’t actually have to do that, she flushed, the tip of her filament turning sunset-orange too. “ _Permission to speak freely, Captain._ ” Kirk waved a hand in acquiescence. “ _From what I have seen-felt of the Gallery of the Sciences, of the Sea-dwellers there was almost none. How could we put faith only in what the Arkians think-speak of them?_ ”

“Good point, Lieutenant. But currently, the evidence doesn’t seem to speak in their favour, for either of the two peoples,” Kirk mused.

“I believe the Sea-dwellers to be benign, Captain,” Spock all but interrupted, much to Kirk’s surprise. Benign? That looked a far cry from benign but he trusted his First’s assessment. After all, he wasn’t the one who had been in telepathic contact with those beings.  “I was unable to compartmentalise and analyse my thoughts clearly when the events of the encounter transpired but the short meditative trance proved beneficial. I could recognise a certain level of transference, fragments of emotions and memories, from the short-lived contact. I would surmise that the adolescent Sea-dwellers were merely trying to communicate and the contact manifested itself differently, perhaps negatively, in beings not of their species.”

“Mister Spock,” Uhura piped up. “Wouldn’t you say that it’s interesting then how the Arkians seem to have vilified them quite so thoroughly? Judging from my findings from the Linguistics Banks, the term ‘sea-devils’ is an archaic term, with highly bestial connotations, dating back many centuries ago, even back when the Arkians had yet to migrate to their underwater home-world. Interestingly, the neutral term ‘sea-dwellers’ seemed to have branched off from there only in more recent times, perhaps the result of attempts to communicate, or a movement from sympathisers gaining traction.”

"Thank you, Spock, Uhura,” Kirk acknowledged, a frown growing on his face and a niggling idea taking root at the back of his mind. “What’s really interesting, though, is how the only Arkian we’ve heard so far use the neutral term is the High Councillor’s son.”

"This whole business smells fishy to me,” Bones remarked darkly. “By that logic, Como’s a sympathiser, then?”

Spock hummed. “There is a distinct possibility, yes.” Then, turning to Uhura, he asked, “Lieutenant, would it be far-fetched to postulate that the Sea-dwellers communicate through a combination of telepathy and body language?”

Uhura canted her head. “It’s possible, Mister Spock. I can’t comment that much on telepathy but I would give a definite yes to body language, much like how Terran horses rely heavily on movements of the ears, head, and eyes to communicate. Even humans depend on it; it has been said that over half of our communication is strictly nonverbal: posture, facial cues, body movement and the like.”

Darya chimed in, “ _indeed, the star-creatures of my world-that-is-home speak-interact solely through the language of their bodies._ ”

The beginning of a plan was coalescing in his mind. Kirk snapped his fingers. “Uhura, you’re going to have to come with Spock and me to seek out the Sea-dwellers. Darya, I need you to be our last line of defence. We need to look into the natural interference around the city, figure out what’s keeping our party-to-ship communications from functioning and the Enterprise from beaming us back up.”

Bones crossed his arms when Kirk turned to him. “And Bones, it’s just a hunch but I think there’s more to the death of Como’s companion than it seems, if the Sea-dwellers are as benign as Spock believes them to be. I trust that you can get to the bottom of it.”

"Well, that’s all fine and dandy,” Bones drawled. “But how the devil are we going to get out of here? I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of those tridents, no.”

A strange gleam must have lit up in his eyes because Spock turned toward him with a raised eyebrow.

"There is an old Earth escape tactic,” Kirk uttered slowly, watching as his First’s eyebrows took a steady hike up his forehead. “They used to call it, ah, “get help”, I believe the term is.”

Darya blinked, her filament curling in a question mark. Uhura looked like she wanted to question the sanity of her commanding officer but thought better of it. Kirk honestly didn’t blame them.

Bones looked downright murderous. “Oh, hell no. Jim, you can’t be serious?”

Kirk spread his hands. “Unless you have a better idea, Bones?”

Despite his vigorous protests, moments later, Bones was half-carrying Spock in his arms, and staggering through the doorway. Kirk had graciously helped with pulling open the heavy door, and stepped to the side, out of the line of sight of the guards; Uhura and Darya sat on the bed, as if all was well. And if all went according to plan, all would be well in a few moments.

“Guards! Guards, we require assistance!” Bones yelled, arm shifting underneath the near-dead weight of the Vulcan. Spock’s feet dragged rather convincingly against the ground and his eyelids fluttered once, twice but did not open.

Kirk frowned. That performance was rather too good, for a half-Vulcan who claimed that Vulcans did not lie. He sincerely hoped that Spock’s performance wasn’t a product of residual effects from the telepathic encounter; he had been doing so much better after his trance.

“ _What ails you, Federation doctor?_ ” The older of the two guards inquired, trident held at attention. The younger guard looked up from his inspection of their communicators, clutched in one hand, hastily drawing his trident up as well.

“What kind of dim-witted question is that?” Bones gritted his teeth. Careful now, Bones. Don’t want to upset the big angry Arkian with a trident. “Shouldn’t you be asking that about my patient? Can’t you see that he’s nearly comatose because of you and your senseless conflict with those, ah, Sea-devils? And now you won’t even give me the proper equipment to heal him!”

The younger guard looked vaguely contrite at that. The senior guard still looked rather suspicious but grunted his assent. “ _Allow me to ascertain the condition of your Commander. If it is grave enough, I shall call for the healers._ ”

Bones spluttered a little in indignation but did not protest when the older guard moved closer to Spock, trident lowering. The former was likely a genuine reaction; the latter, however, was a better response than they could have expected, and a perfect chance for them to catch the guard unaware. Just as he leaned in close, hand reaching out to Spock’s forehead, Spock’s eyelids fluttered open and his hand came up around his shoulders and pinched hard at the juncture between his neck and the shoulder of his dominant hand. Kirk allowed himself a moment to wonder just how hysterical – and very, very unfortunate – it would be if the nerve pinch failed to work on Arkian physiology before jumping into action himself, scissoring his legs around the younger guard’s. The guard let out a yelp of surprise and went down, hard, to the ground.

Both tridents fell to the ground with a clunk, as did the now unconscious senior guard. Beneath the iron grip Kirk had on his arm, the younger guard’s hand made a spasm around the communicators – their phasers, however, were nowhere to be found – and went slack. Darya swooped in and scooped them off the ground quickly; Uhura came up beside her and was beginning to tinker with them.

Kirk slid his other arm around the guard’s neck and ordered, “the location of the Hub shield controls, now!”

When the body beneath his failed to budge, he hissed, “you see what my Commander did to your senior just now?” His heart stuttered slightly as he noted how he had accidentally used the possessive noun in relation to Spock; he shook himself out of it when the guard squirmed beneath him. “I can just as easily get him to perform the Vulcan Death Manoeuvre on you,” he paused for effect, and the guard made a noise  _—_ of disbelief or despair, it was a little hard to discern  _—_ under him. And then, on a hunch, “or maybe you would like to be treated to some of the famed Vulcan telepathy.”

“ _I yield, I yield_!” The guard all but shouted immediately. The UT even crackled at the sheer volume and emotion behind his exclamation. Very interesting indeed. “ _The shield controls are_ _just south of the Chambers. Take the first waterway on the right for five angler-blinks and alight when you see a dome-shaped building._ ”

“Hm.” Kirk made a non-committal sound. “And what about Como’s companion? Where is his body being kept?” It was a shot in the dark but there was no harm trying.

The guard was silent for a long time, so long that he was beginning to give it up for a lost cause. “ _It is customary of our people to bury our dead in the sea-bed. To be one with the earth again is the highest honour, bestowed upon us by our ancestors of the dirt_.”

Somehow, something told him that Como’s friend, who looked a far cry from an Arkian now that he thought about it, likely wouldn’t be accorded such an honour.

“Anything else you want to add?” Kirk prompted. The guard actually seemed to consider that for a moment and then blurted out, “ _please, if you intend to kill me, don’t lay my body out with the darkness of the currents._ ”

Alright, alright. Poor guy couldn’t have been more than a kid. Kirk jabbed him with just the right amount of force at the side of his neck, and the guard slumped over, unconscious. He carefully laid the figure onto the ground.

When he glanced up, Spock had his disapproving face on, though whether it was because of the violence (which he likely deemed unnecessary) or the hyperbolic threat of telepathic assault – he could already imagine Spock chastising him with how “Vulcans would never enter another’s mind without consent, Captain” – remained to be seen.  

“Alright, gentlefolk,” Kirk began as he retrieved one of the communicators from Darya. Two of them had been taken apart by the guards, out of curiosity or as an act of sabotage, they would never know. Bones and Darya each held onto one; one communicator between him, Spock, and Uhura would have to do. “We have our tasks cut out for us. Remember to report in once you find anything.”

Then, he turned to Spock and Bones. “Well, gentlemen, if all else fails, I do believe that you two may find a career as holovid actors if you so please,” Kirk teased. Bones gave him a disgruntled look and started trudging off down the corridor, muttering about “goddamn crazy star-ship captains” and “unwarranted career changes”. Spock, on the other hand, looked as serene as ever, even with his bangs slightly ruffled from the altercation.

Well, privately, Kirk thought that Spock certainly looked good enough to be one, and then some.

* * *

McCoy wondered why he had let himself be led into believing in this false utopia in the first place. He told himself that it had nothing to do with the veritable treasure trove of medical equipment  _—_ for God’s sake, their biomimetic bandages had self-healing and self-sealing mechanisms  _—_ or the fact that the spiralling architecture and the city’s inhabitants had actually managed to lift his cold, deadened heart from the depths of cynicism. Not one bit, no siree!  

The better question was, why was he slinking along the streets of this godforsaken city, glancing every so often over his shoulder like an Arkian guard was liable to appear at any moment? He was a doctor, dammit, not a goddamn spy operative! He was pretty damn sure that this wasn’t in the job description of a CMO; then again, nothing was out of the ordinary – mostly because everything that happened was extraordinary one way or another  _—_ when it came to serving aboard the Enterprise, especially under one Jim Kirk.  

Still, he had to admit, everything about what had transpired so far was highly suspect. Aside from the fact that they were being guarded more as prisoners rather than guests, he had other lingering questions; like, how did the Arkians know where to look for them? Granted, the aide was probably aware of where each of them left off on the tour, but Jim and Spock went off to Lord knows where afterward. Honestly, if shit hadn’t hit the fan quite as fast as it did, he had half the mind to tease them  _—_ alright, maybe not so much Spock but Jim, considering how it would fly over the damn literal hobgoblin’s head anyway  _—_ about sneaking off to have some alone time together. Don’t think he hadn’t noticed how the two of them had grown mightily close, especially after the whole body-snatching debacle with Lester.

Now, didn’t that just sound like another pair of lovebirds? Como and his friend, except “friend” was probably a euphemism for secret lover-boy. Poor things, they couldn’t have been more than kids... although, who was he to impose age and gender norms on non-Humans?

As he ducked beneath the awning of a building to avoid being set right smack in the path of a pair of young Arkians, he hastily pulled the hood of his robe  _—_ a dusty, oversized thing they found when digging through the cabinets of the adjacent quarters  _—_ over his head and stepped back into the shadows.

“ _Have you heard the news about the High Councillor’s son_?” A few strains of the conversation drifted over. McCoy perked up instantly.  Now, where would the citizens be hearing this piece of news from? He was pretty sure it was classified; he didn’t believe that the High Councillor would want that particular piece of distressing news being leaked to the public, considering how certain individuals in the Council thought it might be an assault by the Sea-dwellers.  Well, unless someone in the High Council thought they could benefit from such a leak...

“ _Yes, poor Como!_ ” Her companion exclaimed, and proceeded to enumerate, in rather graphic detail, on the various, uh, qualities that he possessed. McCoy pulled a face. That was information he did not want to know about, no matter how much he agreed with his cause. Hell, he didn’t even know if Como was a sympathiser for sure!

“ _I heard they might be holding a service for his friend._ ” McCoy tuned back in just in time to hear the important bit. Her companion laughed with the strangely melodic sound of gurgling streams. “ _What makes you think they will? It would be on his good fortune if he even manages to get a spot in the sea-bed. There is little prized space left for people who do not sit on the Council nowadays._ ”

McCoy strained to hear her next words, spoken in a low, conspiratorial tone. “ _I heard from my friend’s aunt’s son who works for the Council that he might be put into the currents_.” The first Arkian’s gasp sounded positively scandalised, even as their voices started to fade away into the distance.

Waiting till they passed out of earshot, he hurried out from beneath the awning and stepped into the waterway that would lead him to the medical wing of the Gallery of the Sciences. If they were really going to put the body in the water, he had to act fast. Who knew where the currents would carry the body?

Damn it, if only he had his tricorder with him. As it was, he had to rely on stealing whatever equipment they had in the medical wing. He only hoped he knew which instruments to choose and how to utilise what he chose when the time came.

* * *

Darya was positive she had not missed the captain telling her that she would be acting “in the capacity of security officer” on this mission.

Technically, what she was doing could be called a security recce. After all, she was to search-react to enemy territory. She was of hesitation to call them enemies, although rationally, she knew that their intentions were likely not totally of friend-family. Seeing Mister Spock in the aftermath of the telepathic encounter, however, had truly shaken her, even if she knew down deep that  Captain Kirk had really only meant for his words to be used as a ruse to let her and Uhura into their quarters for an emergency meeting.

Sometimes, she found herself not of certain mind about what she was doing on the Operations track. Her people were extremely peace-loving by nature and could not condone violence in any form; in that sense, she felt the draw of friend-family to Mister Spock and his people. Yet, there had always been a part of her that yearned to protect the people around her; Security seemed like the straightest, shortest path to doing so.

Her contemplation came to a stop as the waterway (first one on the right, alight after five angler-blinks; she had been reciting that in her head ever since she departed from the rest of the landing party) jettisoned her around the back of the dome-shaped building. It was relatively small and unadorned when she cross-measured it with the rest of the architecture in the Hub. The only thing that set it apart from the other buildings around it was the set of complex-looking symbols that arched over the doorway.

With a quiet sigh, she drew the hood of her robe over her head, careful not to jostle her filament; she could not have imagined it being comfortable the moment she acquired it from the dusty drawers in the quarters adjacent to the one they were held in, and she was not surprised to find that reality and her conjectures were an unfortunate match.

As she emerged from the screen of hanging kelp-like filaments, she suddenly found herself missing the small alcoves on the shores of her world-that-is-home that were similarly adorned. Every fortnight, the tides would recede, revealing a beautiful patchwork of living ocean-shells and tiny blooms on the entrance to each alcove, in which she and her friend-family would often spend the night before going into deeper waters again.

She blinked away her recollection of her world-that-is-home at the sound of the low melodic tones _—_ characteristic of a female Arkian  _—_ from beside her. “ _Have you come to stand in the splendour of they who give life?_ ”

She had not even realised that she was still lingering just shy of the doorway; she did a quick scan of the room. As expected, the ceilings curved upward into a gradual dome; its colours seemed to grow darker the further upward it sloped, until it felt as though she were staring up into an abyss, strange and unlikely as that sounded. The only source of light came from many thousand pinpricks of what must be bioluminescent algae. The susurrus of water around her feet echoed around the empty chambers.  

“ _My apologies, I did not mean to intrude_ ,” she murmured, quickly pressing her fingers to her forehead.

“ _There is no need for apologies, young one, just as how the sea would not apologise for its changing tides._ ” The Arkian replied, unhurriedly returning the gesture. “ _Here, we may all stand in the splendour of they who give life_.”

After a moment of silence, in which the Arkian appeared to survey the room with deeper contemplation than the empty space would warrant, she remarked casually, “ _you do not look to be of our tides_.” Darya searched for the edge in her tone that would indicate suspicion but there was only calm acceptance.

“ _I have indeed travelled far,_ ” Darya returned as evenly as she could, willing her facial muscles to stay put. She could already feel her filament starting to twitch with unease; she was not accustomed to what her human shipmates called ‘lying’. There was no such term among her people’s think-speak.

Not for the first time since she set foot into the building, she wondered if this was even the right place to be. When the captain had forced the answer out of the guard, she had expected a heavily guarded building, containing a control room decked with beeping machinery and control panels that she could tinker with and seek to understand. Nothing could have prepared her for this quiet room of retreat, of worship, even, simultaneously like and unlike the alcoves of her world-that-is-home.

The steady trickle of water from an unidentified source only magnified her anxiety; they did not exactly have the luxury of time. No doubt their disappearance from their quarters would soon be found out and where would that leave them? What would happen to the rest of the landing party upon discovery, they who had long since become friend-family to her?

Emboldened by the thought and acting on what her human shipmates would call a "hunch", Darya ventured to ask, “ _I have travelled far to see they who give life. Where may I seek them out?_ ”

The Arkian did not answer for a time, merely canting her head to one side. “ _We are one with them, and they with us, as the tides are with the ocean_ . _We reside in that which sees all, controls all._ ” Then, perhaps sense-seeing the incomprehension in Darya’s face, she spread her arms wide to gesture at the room around her.  

It took a while but realisation dawned upon her like eddying currents breaking over the shores of her mind. She squinted up at the walls and ceilings.

They were not littered with algae. The tiny pinpricks, seemingly spread randomly, were an interconnected series of neurons, whose action potentials luminesced, with a sense of water and song and currents and life.

* * *

There was something undeniably magical about watching Kirk and Spock communicate without speaking.

The journey through the waterway had been largely silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. However, Uhura was keenly aware of the glances that the two of them exchanged, or rather, cast at each other when the other was not looking. While Kirk was generally considered to be rather open with his emotions compared to his stoic Vulcan First, she knew that her captain was a highly private man, even as it was evident how he put his heart and soul into every single interaction with the four hundred and twenty odd crew members of the Enterprise. The soft intensity in his gaze as he looked at Spock was not uncommon  _—_ after all, she had been part of the bridge crew for long enough to have seen a great deal of it  _—_ but still sweet nonetheless. On the other hand, while she would not say that she was as well-versed in Spock-speak as the captain surely was, she believed that her aptitude at linguistics and the glimpses of Spock she had been privy to off-duty were sufficient to discern the fond acknowledgement in his face.

Her musings about her commanding officers came to an abrupt halt as the currents began to ebb. Exiting the waterway was always a rather disorientating experience. The captain exited first, and briefly steadied her with a hand on her elbow when she stumbled slightly. The hand he placed on Spock’s elbow, however, seemed to linger far longer than was necessary. The two of them held each other’s gazes for a beat, in which some form of communication must have passed between them, then broke apart.

“Captain,” Spock started. Uhura glanced up from her discreet observation of the circular low wall before her. “There is a possibility that the Sea-dwellers will not return to this particular site, considering the violence enacted against them by the guards.”

Uhura inhaled sharply at that. It would seem that violence was a universal language, abhorrent as it was, among sentient beings across galaxies.

The captain looked thoughtful, running a hand absently along the grooves of the wall.  “I don’t suppose there’s a hotline direct to their headquarters,” he mused as he paced around the circumference of the curved wall.

“Would Mister Spock be able to communicate with them via telepathy?” Uhura suggested. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically loud in the eerie silence. Unlike the city centre, where muted chatter and the rush of the waterways  _—_ sometimes, accompanied by elusive strains of music  _—_ would fill the air, it was almost unbearably quiet here. It was a veritable ghost town, even though she was positive that the houses here – modest, squat little places that bordered on being run-down – were inhabited.

Before either of her commanding officers could respond, a high-pitched keening emitted from somewhere behind them; at the same time, it felt like someone reached into her skull and plucked at the strings within, as if her mind was shaped like a lyre. In the periphery of her vision, she saw that the commander had doubled over, one hand scrabbling at the wall. She hadn’t scored particularly high on her esper rating; she could only imagine what that must have felt like for Mister Spock. Already, the captain was at his side, a hand on the nape of the commander’s neck, a pinched expression on his face, although it was unclear whether the expression arose from his own discomfort or Mister Spock’s.  

A loud banging started up, followed by the rustling sound of the hanging tendrils of kelp in the doorways that were apparently commonplace among the dwellings  here. A slender figure shot out from one of the dwellings and headed straight for the low wall.  The Sea-dweller  _—_ for that must be who they were, judging from how their appearance matched the brief description furnished by the captain on their way here  _—_ came to a stop a few yards away from them. They looked rather stunned to see the three of them here but quickly recovered. The flare of the fin-ridges along their limbs was likely a sign of aggression or fear, possibly both.

She spread her arms wide in what she hoped was a placating gesture, hopefully one which showed she had no weapons or intent to harm. It was terrifying to think that there was no frame of reference that she  _—_ or any of them, really  _—_ could follow. Yet, she couldn’t prevent the thrill of exhilaration that ran through her at the prospect of being part of this unique First Contact.

The Sea-dweller cocked their head, eyes focused on her hands. The fin-ridges gradually returned to their original quiescent stage, although they were still clenching and unclenching their webbed hands out of… anxiety? Anger? She intentionally released any remaining tension in her fingers and held her gaze steady.

Eons must have passed before the Sea-dweller took one tentative step toward her and stilled again. What was running through their mind? Was it anguish, from having seen one of their brethren struck down by the guards earlier on? Or perhaps it was anger, like the slow crash of waves against the shores, madly, steadily throwing itself upon the grains of sand? The image barely trickled into her mind before it was stoppered again.  What she would give to even have an ounce of telepathic ability right now!

“Lieutenant,” came Spock’s voice from behind her. She was relieved to note that his voice, though quiet, held steady. “It would seem that further communication would necessitate telepathic contact.”

“Spock,” Kirk interjected, a soft note of warning in his voice. The captain could be firm, demanding, even, when he wanted to; here, the tone sounded a lot more like a plea than a command.

A beat. Uhura did not dare to break her gaze with the being before her, but she was certain that some unspoken communication passed, yet again, between her commanding officers.

“Do it.” Kirk’s voice was firm and unyielding this time.

She felt the heat emanating from his body as Mister Spock drew up slowly beside her. She hoped that the slowness was a precaution against startling the Sea-dweller rather than a result of his previous injury. The Sea-dweller still hadn’t moved, apart from shifting their gaze slightly to their Vulcan First Officer.

“If you would permit it, I would initiate a mind-meld, a sharing of thoughts, between us.” Spock arranged his fingers in an approximation of the grip that would facilitate the initiation of a meld at his own temple.

The Sea-dweller narrowed their eyes; they placed their fingers on their forehead, fin-ridges rustling and a low guttural sound emanating from their chest. Could it be that the gesture that conveyed respect and greetings among Arkians displayed aggression instead? Or were they trying to convey a dislike for the Arkians by mimicking a common gesture they utilised? Uhura was willing to bet that it was the latter.

As they shifted their webbed fingers to their temple, mimicking Mister Spock’s actions instead, their fin-ridges relaxed and the sound ceased. With a significant language barrier between them, that was the closest to acquiescence they would garner from them. Even so, Uhura observed that Mister Spock was very cautious and gentle as he reached out a hand to the Sea-dweller, giving them plenty of time to counter his movements if they so chose to. With a soft swell of amazement rising up in her chest, she noted the way the Sea-dweller, too, raised their hand in unison with their First Officer. A flash of gold in the periphery of her vision told her that the captain had edged forward, away from the low wall; she was not surprised to see that his hands were clenched at his sides, as if it were the only thing preventing him from reaching out for his First.

The two of them leaned into each other a little when they first made contact. Mister Spock’s brow furrowed; his lips parted but he spoke no words. They stayed that way for a few moments, until she saw a minute tightening of webbed fingers at his temples and Mister Spock let out a low cry. The Sea-dweller jerked backward a little but then immediately pressed their forehead hard against his.

“Spock,” Kirk started, and when there was no response, he raised his voice. “Commander, snap out of it. Break the meld, damn it!”

Kirk looked like he was one step away from physically intervening, although that was probably not the wisest or safest course of action for any of them, especially their First Officer.

Before either of them could react, the thump of metal against ground reverberated into the still air around them and beneath their feet. The Arkian standing before them could not have been more than half a head shorter than Uhura in stature, but the wild look in her eyes and the tension in her stance screamed of danger. The trident  in her hand was pointed at them.

“ _I give you one angler-blink to step away from the Sea-dweller_.”

* * *

In hindsight, McCoy should probably have thought things through a little better.

So far, he had sequestered away in the folds of his robe:

  1. A scalpel-like object, except considerably longer and probably less wieldy
  2. What looked like a medical scanner, except everything on it was written in what he presumed to be Arkian  
  3. A first-aid toolkit (in case any idiots needed patching up later)



He had good reason to believe that he could use Object #1 reasonably well. However, it looked like Object #2 stood the best chance in figuring out just what the hell killed Como’s companion; he desperately needed a crash course in written Arkian. Where was Uhura when you needed her? There was a reason he wasn’t a linguistics expert.

Currently, he was also tailing  _—_ or attempting to tail, at any rate  _—_ one of the visitors to the Gallery. This was no ordinary visitor, he was sure, and for once he was not trying to be charming about that turn of phrase. After he’d done the deed in the med wing, he had wanted to skedaddle as far away as he damn well could. However, he had caught a glimpse of a well-built Arkian male  _—_ and oh boy, was he built like he could end someone’s life quite literally with his bare hands  _—_ slipping through one of the staff doors along the corridor that led to the Analytics Labs. McCoy had hid behind a particularly large rock exhibit and was not disappointed when the Arkian returned mere minutes after he entered.

For some reason, instinct told him to follow him, and follow him he did. It wasn’t like he had any other lead to go on right now, apart from possibly wandering the outskirts of the Hub until he found any suspicious body-dumping activity. Again, he found himself cursing Jim just slightly for assigning him this task.

As he exited the Gallery, McCoy adjusted the hood around his head surreptitiously and ducked behind a pillar  _—_ just in time it would seem, as the Arkian he was tailing suddenly halted between two pillars.

“ _I have delivered the artifact to the Gallery Keepers_ ,” he spoke in a low and urgent undertone, seemingly to thin air. “ _You are certain that they who work with the Science Council can be trusted?_ ”

McCoy glanced around, trying to figure out just who he was talking to. The Arkian tapped the side of his head a few times and waited. A variant of the exo-skin, he realised, shimmered and faded again from sight. Who knew that they had communications built into the exo-skin? A frown formed on his face. In fact, who knew what else they built into the exo-skins he and the rest of the crew were wearing? A hidden communication function, or hidden tracking device, perhaps? That would certainly explain how the aide and the Council Guards seemed to know where each Enterprise landing party member was located at any given point of time.

Before his ruminations could turn any darker, he found himself listening in as the Arkian spoke again. He had to strain his ears even harder this time round.

“ _I will rendezvous with you by the currents north of here in ten angler-blinks. We must put him in the currents as soon as possible_.”  

Aha! He’d known that there was something, uh, fishy about this individual the moment he saw him slipping in and out of the staff-restricted area. And judging by how horrified the young Arkian guard from earlier had been with the prospect of being put into the currents upon death, putting ‘him’ in the currents was not common procedure on Ark. For the sake of the mission, he hoped the ‘him’ they referred to was Como’s companion, but part of him, the part who took the Hippocratic Oath and packed his bags and uprooted his life on Earth to become CMO on a starship, hoped against all hope that this was not the fate that awaited the poor youth. It was too much of a coincidence for it to be unrelated.

As he sauntered casually out of his hiding place, keeping a careful few paces behind the Arkian who had started making his way down the steps again, he began formulating a plan in his head. He would have to follow the Arkian until the rendezvous point, after which he would wait for them to do the deed and depart before he would quickly swoop in to examine the body. He would prefer not to engage the Arkians if he could; he wasn’t sure if anyone other than the Council Guards possessed those electrified tridents, and though every Starfleet officer was trained in hand-to-hand combat, he would rather not take the chance, especially as the only other weapon he had on him other than his fists was a rather flimsy looking scalpel.

McCoy was relieved to find that the waterway he and the Arkian stepped onto was conveying other Arkian citizens as well. The relief, however, was short-lived as the crowd started thinning out as they neared the outskirts. With a jolt, he realised that if they were the only two to get off at wherever the end of the waterway was, his cover might easily be blown.

Thankfully, just as the currents around him lighted up with a warm red sheen to indicate the imminent terminal point, a pair of elderly-looking Arkians also stepped out of the waterway. As they ambled off in the direction of what appeared to be the pod terminal (McCoy blamed the tiny lettering and dim algae blooms for having to squint; he did not need corrective lenses, dammit), a wave of panic crashed over him when he realised that he lost sight of his target.

He found that he could breathe again when he spotted the familiar silhouette of the Arkian striding toward the boundaries of the dome where another figure crouched. Damn, now what?

He inched closer, keeping a relatively safe distance between them in case he was spotted. The probability of being discovered grew with each step he took but he had to find out if they were really disposing of Como’s companion, or if it was merely a coincidence.

It was clear enough that the two of them were moving a body, although whether that belonged to Como’s mysterious companion remained to be seen. He craned his neck. He wasn't nearly close enough to discern the features on the body but it looked humanoid enough. Still, it wouldn't do well to rush into things, non-existent phasers blazing.

With a sick sense of horror bubbling in his chest, he watched as the two of them hoisted up the bare body into their arms and pushed it, feet first, against the interior surface of the Dome; the Dome, iridescent and ethereal in its beauty as it had been when they first approached the Hub, glimmered darkly as it gaped around the body with a slick sound. The body was held in limbo for a moment, and then pushed it out into the unforgiving currents outside.

Well, that certainly answered the question of how they were going to “put the body into the currents”.

From his vantage point, he watched as the Arkian he had been tailing patted the interior of the Dome with the self-satisfied air of a job well done, or in the manner one would affect with a pet who had behaved well. The two of them lingered there for a while longer, seemingly in heated discussion before they parted ways hurriedly.

He held his breath as one of them passed by where he was half-crouching in the shade of a building, if it could even be called that, considering how derelict it looked. He waited for a few more breaths to be sure, then darted out, making a beeline for the last spot where the body was ejected from the Dome.

Right. He was expecting there to be some obvious opening of some sort in the Dome, or at least an exit he could go through to make a grab for the body, crude as that sounded. Frowning, he tapped at the approximate area from which the body had been ejected. Maybe he could risk getting sucked through that too, and figure out how to get back once he was done examining the body.

There was barely any warning, only a faint sound of suction, before the body, sheathed in some kind of vesicle, was retracted back into the interior of the Dome with a faint squelch.

McCoy had seen a lot of weird things in his time as CMO of the USS Enterprise but this just about took the cake; he would do well to never hear or see such a spectacle again. He wasn't the kind of man to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so he hunkered down, starting to extricate his pilfered equipment from the folds of his robe. He had no idea how Spock could wear such a thing, let alone meditate and walk and function in it.

Gently, he turned the body over. The unease in the pit of his stomach intensified when he realised that the darkened marks, extending in a starburst pattern around the face and down the chest area, were not the markings characteristic of the Sea-dwellers but distinct electrical burns. With a start, he recognised that the burns were actually seared on top of the gently swirling patterns that marked the body as that of a Sea-dweller. Well, the natural markings on the body would explain why Como was looking so furtive as he escorted his  companion  _—_ clearly a non-citizen, and in the eyes of the Council, no better than a senseless animal _—_ around the Hub. As for the electrical burns… His mind immediately flitted to the electrified tridents that the Council Guards were so fond of wielding.

He surprised himself again with how steady his hands were as he started his preliminary examination of the corpse. The three holes in his back, spaced evenly apart, were fairly incriminating; he was careful, however, not to let confirmation bias (or the slowly building anger in his gut) override his assessment.

Damn it. The readings on the unfamiliar medical scanner were beginning to seem like more trouble than they were worth; the foreign symbols and swirling script were giving him a headache. Well, at least some things were universal though; he presumed the lightning strike symbol was meant to refer to electrocution or electricity of some sort.

He wasn’t familiar with Sea-dweller physiology but he was aware that in general, death by electrocution need not necessarily require a very large current; a small current, placed in the right region, could potentially stop one’s heart or one’s breathing.  He made a face. He would rather not have to dissect the body if he could _—_ Lord knows the poor kid had been through enough  _—_ but it would certainly help confirm matters if he could examine the internal organs for petechial haemorrhages. It would probably help a lot more if he could get his hands on the trident itself.

Unless the Sea-dwellers coincidentally also had in their possession those damn electrified tridents, and somehow went batshit crazy enough to murder one of their own people in cold blood… Things were not adding up, even to an old country doctor like himself. But what precipitated the guards’ attack on Como’s companion, if it had been the Sea-dwellers who had attacked Como and his friend? A mix-up between the identity of the hostiles and Como’s friend? Were there hostiles there to begin with or was this whole thing a big fat conspiracy? If not, why the whole cloak and dagger business with disposing of the body anyway?

Too many questions, too many unknowns but all things considered, it seemed like he was turning out to be quite the natural at this espionage business, at least.

The moment that particular thought surfaced in his mind, the tell-tale roar of a waterway opening behind him had him glancing up, right into the prongs of a guard’s trident.

Well, speak of the devil! Now, more than ever, he was sure that there was some kind of tracking device embedded in this blasted exo-skin of theirs.

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in what he hoped to be a placating manner. He belatedly realised that he was still holding a scalpel in his right hand.

“Well, don’t quit your day job, Leonard,” he muttered to himself under his breath as he rose to his feet.

Well, shit.  He could only hope that the rest had a better shot at what they were tasked to do than he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the final scene: Pilfered medical supplies in hand, McCoy follows the Arkian to the outskirts of Ark. There, the Arkian and his accomplice dispose of the body of Como's companion via a mechanism that resembles exocytosis of sorts through the Dome surface. The body is retracted back through the Dome after the Arkian duo have departed, giving McCoy a chance to examine their cause of death. Just as he deduces that it is likely that Como's companion had been murdered by an Arkian's trident, Arkian guards appear and he is recaptured.


	4. our world breaks on the reef

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [The Splinters](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/146972/from-the-splinters) by Greg Delanty.
> 
> TW: some blood and violence. Please check chapter notes at the end for more specific warnings!

Kirk awoke with an insistent pounding in his head. He felt like he had been dreaming of floating in the ocean; in fact, it felt like he had left part of himself adrift in the currents, a vital, irreplaceable part of him…

Spock.

His first thought was of getting him back, but they could not even be sure if he was still alive at this point. What was the voltage of the current from those damned electrified tridents anyway, and just how sturdy was the Vulcan constitution? He refused to believe otherwise; his friend had always been unique, down to his half-Vulcan genetics, and who was to say that it wouldn’t be the combination of Vulcan and Human that would keep that precious heart beating?

He lifted his head gingerly, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot through the back of his skull and lanced down his neck.  

Uhura was seated next to him on the bench, face taut with anger, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. There was a bruise blooming on her cheek, and her lip sported several cuts; however, apart from that, she seemed relatively unharmed.  He allowed himself to feel a moment of relief.

Around them, a troop of guards stood silently, tridents held in their hands. The Art Council representative stood just a little behind the guard who, by all appearances, was controlling the course of the shuttle pod from the raised dais.

He must have made a sound because he was met with the sensation of fingers gently but firmly guiding his head to rest against Uhura's uniform-clad shoulder.

“Are we en route to the Hub?” Kirk asked, voice low, squinting up at his Communications Officer. The faint luminescent glow of the algae blooms out in the currents seemed much more glaring than it had been.

“ _Indeed, Kirk_.” It was the Art Council representative who answered. Kirk struggled into an upright position, ignoring how the pain in his head returned with a vengeance.

“ _You will face the consequences, as will your medical officer for interfering in our affairs_.”

Damn it, not Bones too. He only hoped that he had managed to get to the bottom of the death of Como’s companion before he was caught. Lieutenant Darya’s name was conspicuously absent and he hoped it stayed that way. She was their only ace in the hole now.

“I presume this was a unanimous decision sanctioned by your High Council,” Kirk challenged back. The way the Arkian bristled but did not respond was an answer in itself.

“ _The High Council does not take kindly to outsiders going against the flow of the currents._ ” The answer that the representative settled on only confirmed the xenophobic, protectionist sentiments that he _—_ and possibly others in the Council _—_ held.

Well, that would certainly explain the persecution of minorities under the premise of an inability to communicate with them, intolerance of cultures and languages that were vastly divergent from their own, and the cautious _—_ and in retrospect, wary _—_ way they treated outsiders in general.

All these damn secrets. And what for? While Federation membership was certainly appealing, especially for civilisations looking to further their progress by tapping into the pool of resources and knowledge of the growing number of Federation member worlds, Kirk would hardly think that it was something to die for, so as to speak. All these lies and careful planning… he couldn’t help but feel that he and his crew were being used somehow, perhaps to browbeat the Sea-dwellers that these Council members felt so strongly against into submission once and for all. Maybe the previous crew who surveyed the planet hadn’t peered _—_ or hadn’t wanted to peer _—_ beneath this faux utopian veneer. Fat chance that that was going to happen again on his watch.

The docking of the shuttle pod jolted Kirk out of his ruminations.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Kirk as he and Uhura were escorted out of the pod, flanked by two guards, the rest of the troop in tow. If they were going to be put under house arrest again, Kirk was going to fight them every step of the way.

“Jim, thank God.” Bones looked like a mess; Kirk was vaguely aware that if that were so, he himself must be looking much worse. Flanked by two guards _—_ Lord only knew what the Arkians saw that made them think that one man needed to be so heavily guarded _—_ there were additional lines in his face and a certain dullness in his gaze.

Kirk could almost pinpoint the exact moment that Bones slipped right into doctor mode. His gaze flicked to his head _—_ the most obvious injury _—_ and then critically assessed the other bruises and scrapes over his body. The frown that furrowed his brow after completing the brief assessment spoke of how the man would clearly feel better only after jabbing him with a good few hypos.

As it was, bereft of a medkit of any kind, Bones merely grasped at his arm, frown deepening at the way Kirk stifled a wince.  He glanced over at Uhura, giving her the same once-over. Then, as if finally noticing the empty space where Kirk’s Vulcan shadow, as he liked to call it, used to fill, he hissed, “Jim, where’s Spock?”

Kirk closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling like the breath had been punched out of his lungs all over again.

“He was injured. We’re not sure if he was taken by the Sea-dwellers,” Uhura spoke up quietly from his side.

“Injured?” Bones demanded, turning on Kirk more than Uhura, really. “Damn it, man! And you just left him there?”

His tone was flat-out accusatory. The heavy drawl that became increasingly pronounced by the end of his sentence was a clear indication of his distress; rationally, Kirk was aware that the doctor’s concern for others, particularly for one half-Vulcan First Officer, often manifested in sarcasm and barbed words in times of great stress but he couldn’t help the answering ire from burning deep in his chest and leaping onto the tip of his own tongue.

They were unceremoniously shushed by the guards. Privately, Kirk was glad that he wasn’t given the chance to shoot back a retort; it would have been one that he would regret for a long time to come. One of the guards, a combination of youth and the unusual nature of the situation making them eager-to-please and trigger-happy, waved their trident with a threatening swish, bare inches from Kirk’s face. A wave of vertigo washed over him anew, and he struggled to keep one foot going in front of the other as they were led into the Council Chambers.

The lights in the Chambers were dimmed. The High Councillor’s seat was conspicuously empty; his aide stood a little off to the side, conversing in hushed tones with one of the Council representatives. The low hum of conversation intensified at their entrance into the Chambers.   

The aide circled round the formation of Council representatives, coming to a halt in front of Kirk, Uhura and Bones.

“ _Federation guests_ ,” he greeted, features still set in a genial smile. “ _Were the quarters furnished inadequate? We must insist that you stay close to the city centre. Surely by now you must have seen with your own eyes what the Sea-devils are capable of._ ”

“Enough. We wish to speak to your High Councillor.” Kirk was not mincing words this time. This might have started out as a diplomatic mission but it sure as hell wasn’t anymore. At this time, the safety of his crew was paramount; in any case, Kirk was certain that unless some kind of explanation could be furnished and a reasonable course of action could be decided upon, there was little chance of establishing Federation membership. Then again, Command had closed an eye to a fair myriad of less than savoury dealings in their time.

Something in the aide’s wording set off a few alarms in his head. It was beginning to seem the diminutive, unassuming Arkian had a lot more up his metaphorical sleeve than one would have thought. If they had found them quite as easily as they had, it was highly likely that they had been monitoring the Enterprise crew for a long while. It was likely no coincidence at all that they had encountered _—_   or rather, been allowed to encounter  _—_   the Sea-dwellers.

“ _He has gone into retreat for half a sun-cycle in contemplation of the currents,_ ” the aide returned smoothly, sketching a slight bow. Kirk cast a sideways glance at Uhura but she looked just as perplexed as he did. Was it simply another cultural quirk of theirs or was it yet another indication that there was more trouble going on in the High Council than they had thought?

“ _In the meantime, we should start planning for reinforcements along our borders to quash the conflict with the Sea-devils. Those animals cannot be reasoned with. We cannot let them murder our people again. Already, four of our guards have been gravely injured in the recent skirmish._ ” Kirk was not surprised to see that it was the Art Council representative who spoke up and slammed a fist against the centre table for emphasis. It would seem that he who leads the Art Council _—_ and likely the aide as well _—_ were the ringleaders of the movement. Whether this was going to result in a full-blown coup remained to be seen. Where was the damn High Councillor when they needed him?

“Now wait a damn minute,” Bones started, ignoring the way the guards tensed up at his tone of voice.

Kirk laid a discreet hand on his shoulder, their differences forgotten for the moment. “Am I to understand that you would rather murder them first?”

The room fell silent. Several other representatives looked distinctly uncomfortable at having the implications laid quite so bare. He ploughed on. “You’ve plundered their land, threatened their children, browbeaten them into submission. Is it any wonder at all that they wish to act in self-defense?”  

“ _Their presence has been nothing but a plague upon our people_.” The Art Council representative was not about to back down. “ _They influence the minds of those of our people who live on the outskirts of the Hub, and live off our resources like strays and stowaways.”_

So. The Arkians _—_   or at least, this exclusive circle of Arkians _—_   were aware of the telepathic abilities of the Sea-dwellers. To suit their needs, they were simply denying that the Sea-dwellers had higher consciousness and a means of communication even when all signs pointed to them.

The representative’s next words stopped Kirk dead cold in his thoughts. “ _We must stamp out those who threaten to muddy our currents and our way of life._ ”

“That’s genocide, and I won’t stand for it,” Kirk hissed. “Neither will Starfleet, nor the Federation.”

Just as the room erupted into chaos, the doors to the Chambers were flung open; back-lit against the glare of the late afternoon sun in the simulated sky was the portly figure of the High Councillor.

“ _I was not aware that a meeting was in session during my contemplation._ ” His voice was deceptively calm; his features, hard as granite, were anything but.

At this point, Kirk was fairly certain that the internal conflict in the High Council was not imagined, and would soon come to a head.

“ _High Councillor,_ ” his aide greeted. “ _We thought to leave you to your contemplation. The loss of your… son must be distressing_.”  The pause was pregnant with the unspoken, and the undercurrents of some kind of threat ran swift and silent through his words.

Kirk watched with alarm at the way the High Councillor flushed several shades darker and worried at the scales on his forehead with his fingers.

To say that the High Councillor looked beleaguered would be a gross understatement. “ _Duly noted. Recommendations?_ ”

A bolt of surprise shot through Kirk at his words. Surely he was not going to accede to their requests? As the Art Councillor, backed up by a few other council representatives, made his case for what essentially amounted to the genocide of the Sea-dwellers, Kirk felt a knot of anger and disgust coil deep in his gut. The members who opposed the idea, already few and far between, presented arguments that were quickly felled like dominoes in the name of protecting all that Ark was and stood for. A few of them hastily retracted their statements and changed their stances; he would not put the Art Councillor beyond bribery or blackmail at this point.

“It has been proven that it is possible to communicate with the Sea-dwellers. Surely there are other ways of ending this conflict?” Kirk commented casually during a lull in the debate, shifting his weight to rest on one leg. He ignored the way his head throbbed even at the tiny movement.

Murmurs started up around the table. At the encouraging look he cast her way, Uhura continued on his behalf, “the Sea-dwellers are a peaceable people who are capable of communicating via a combination of telepathy and body language.”

The murmurs grew louder. The Art Councillor silenced them with a withering stare.

“ _The Outworlder’s voice carries no place in our currents_.” His declaration seemed to close the case entirely. Yet, as the debate resumed with a vengeance, a few of the representatives looked distinctly uneasy, and it showed itself in minute pauses and stumbling words. The seed had been sown; it would have to be enough for now.

It came as no surprise, however, when the verdict came. The Arkians were mobilising all wings of the High Council guards, activating even part of the citizen defence force. There were meant to be precautions and guidelines in place because mobilising the defence force was no easy decision and clearly had not been executed for a long time in this era of relative peace; it was almost laughable, then, how easily each failsafe was toppled with bigotry and xenophobia as the almighty engine.

Uhura’s fists were clenched, her eyes blazing. Bones looked positively murderous. The dam broke once the meeting was adjourned. Immediately, Bones burst out in anger, “Jim, we can’t let them get away with this. It’s genocide!”  

Kirk laid a calming hand on his shoulder. Then, squaring his shoulders, he strode up to the High Councillor. He was their best bet yet.

“High Councillor, consider the repercussions of what your Council is doing. Your defence force is going to kill and maim innocents when there is a perfectly viable solution to end this peacefully.”   

“ _Leader Kirk_.” The High Councillor spread his arms, half in apology, half in resignation. “ _The risk, by virtue of its existence, is unacceptable. Our affairs have always remained our affairs. We are gratified for your assistance and saddened that your commander was lost in the cross-fire_.”

The answer rang hollow, almost as if it were a pre-scripted one; the disparity between his initial thunderous entrance and his current placid acquiescence only confirmed Kirk’s suspicions that he was somehow being strong-armed into this. Unbidden, Kirk’s heart clenched at the thought that Spock might be lost to them _—_   to him _—_  for good.

“If it’s all the same to you, we would rather make certain of that ourselves.” His voice came out hard as flint.   

“ _As you wish. I regret that perhaps there may be nothing to find._ ” The High Councillor dipped his head in acquiescence. Kirk narrowed his eyes, watching his receding back as he turned to make other preparations.

“Come on.” Kirk gestured at Bones and Uhura. “We have a genocide to prevent and a commander to rescue.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

* * *

Spock was adrift.

The darkness seemed to wrap itself around him like a shroud, closing over his eyes like an opaque film. For a fraction of a second, he could almost find himself believing that he was in space. Most illogical. The weightlessness in his limbs told him that, short of being in space, he was likely submerged in water.

He opened his eyes with some effort.

It was still dark.

He blinked. Once, twice, and then repeatedly in quick succession. This was not Deneva. There was no parasite singeing his nerve endings, no bright light searing through his eyelids, no stumbling steps in the dark in the Sickbay.

He repeated a short mantra to himself in his head.

Slowly but surely, his eyes accustomed to the low light  _—_ very dim light from what looked like a few algae blooms. A soft rustling noise in the far corner of what he was beginning to discern to be a darkened cavern, coupled with the increasing pressure at the back of his mind, made him aware that he was not alone.

“ _You are awake_.”

The voice was familiar, as was the clumsy pressure in his mind. Before he could reply _—_  he sincerely doubted his ability to coordinate his facial muscles to attempt such a feat _—_  the lights around him suddenly brightened to a level that no bioluminescent bloom should be capable of.

A groan escaped, unbidden, from his lips. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes but found his limbs strangely enervated; he could not be certain if that was the effect of the light trance that he had automatically slipped into, or the aftershocks of the attack. He presumed he should be gratified that he had not suffered any more permanent damage _—_   that he could discern _—_   from the electrified trident. He spared himself a moment to worry for Kirk and Uhura, to hold within him the picture of Kirk’s anguished face when he last saw him across the expanse of the currents, then pushed it away to be put under lock and key for the time being.

The lights dimmed to a more comfortable level in soft apology. Spock blinked again. There was a rather curious sensation of a mind nudging a tiny eddy of water onto the shores of his own mind.

“ _You are Federation Commander Spock.”_ The figure, closer than Spock had expected, was standing just a little to his side, hands clasped loosely behind him.

The High Councillor’s son.

That answered one question they had had ever since the High Council informed them about his disappearance. However, his presence only served to raise more questions to the fore.

“You are son to the High Councillor,” Spock returned as he struggled to right himself from the rather undignified sprawl he found himself in, lying upon an unidentified bed of mosses and kelps.

He watched curiously as Como turned his head and did not respond. Almost immediately, there was that curious sensation again.

When one had eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable, must be the truth. It was highly likely that the mind probe he had felt when they first beamed down onto Ark was an attempt on Como’s part to reach out telepathically, rudimentary as the attempt was.

“I was unaware that your people possessed telepathic abilities.” Spock watched carefully again for his response.

A pregnant pause, in which it appeared that Como was weighing his options, or rather, deciding whether he could trust him. His reply, when it came, was unexpected.

“ _As was I._ ”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Curiouser and curiouser.

Como still did not seem to be immediately forthcoming with his information.  Perhaps understandably so, considering how he had been taken captive here. The relaxed posture and composed air, however, seemed to point to a contrary conclusion; he looked nothing like a captive at all. His contemplation of Como’s status led him to wonder about his own. What purpose would he serve to the Sea-dwellers as a captive? Leverage against Starfleet? More likely leverage against the captain and the rest of the crew. Even so, it was far more likely that he was taken _—_  possibly, rescued _—_   here for a different purpose altogether.

“You have been here for long?” Spock inquired.

Slowly, Como blinked once, twice and canted his head in acquiescence. He was certainly a lot more vocal and outspoken in front of the other councillors, which led him to believe that his current silence was self-imposed.  Spock decided that perhaps a more drastic line of inquiry was necessary, if only to get a reaction from the other party.

“Your… friend. What caused his death?”

The change in Como’s expression and posture was startling. Gone were the loosely clasped hands and the relaxed shoulders. Tension leaped into the lines of his jaw and his body.  

“ _Who are you to speak of him?_ ” Como’s voice was bitter, almost belligerent.

Spock allowed himself a moment to feel a rush of satisfaction _—_  an altogether human emotion, his father would say  _—_  before he replied, choosing his words with great care.

“I grieve with thee.”

Como’s eyes were still hooded but he appeared to have relaxed fractionally.

“ _To them, they were but an inconsequential eddy in the currents_. _They were_ _not of Ark but they meant a great deal to me_ ,” Como finally spoke in a quiet voice. Then, his tone turning sly,  “ _as do you to your captain, I should imagine._ ”

Spock could feel both his eyebrows steadily climbing up his forehead. James Kirk was a demonstrative man but it was as much a part of him and his captaincy as the orbit of the Earth around its sun. If he was just as demonstrative _—_   if not more so, based on how Kirk was often 45% more likely to be tactile with regard to him than others _—_   it was just a testament to how well they worked together as a command team. Moreover, he was positive that the captain was nothing short of professional while on duty; what could Como have seen to warrant such a conclusion?

Vaguely, he could feel a miasma of lightheadedness suffuse him. He frowned. Surely his affection for Kirk had not affected his controls to such an extent?

“The captain cares greatly for all members of his crew,” Spock returned, surprising himself at how even his voice was.   

His attempts to centre his breathing proved to be futile. With some alarm, he recognised how black spots were starting to crowd his vision. Next to him, the rustle of tunic and the sudden warmth indicated that Como had drawn near; a gloved hand felt his forehead and fumbled to feel the pulse in his neck.

“ _Commander. Commander Spock_!” The sound of Como’s voice seemed to traverse a great distance before it reached him, muffled by the sound of rushing water that should not be present with the exo-skin equipped.

His last thought, moments before he went under again, was the irony of a Vulcan drowning, miles away from home, away from the silver starship traversing space and the steadfast gaze of a certain starship captain.

* * *

Spock awoke, unable to separate the pain in his mind and the pain in his body.

In a manner most unbefitting of a Vulcan, he found himself panicking as he tried to centre his breathing and to still the tremors in his arms, but to no avail. Valiantly, he focused his gaze on the barely discernible shape of etchings in the ceiling in the dim light, calming considerably as he managed to push the pain in his body  _—_   aches in various parts of his body, radiating from the centre of his chest _—_   to a manageable level.

The lights were low and soft, and did not brighten even as he roused; he appreciated the accommodation to his condition, even if it might be unintentional on his hosts’ part. Irrationally, he found himself wishing for the lights of the Enterprise Sickbay; it was often turned down to a comfortable setting in deference for his sensitive eyes, especially if his injury was serious enough to warrant a private room.

He appeared to have moved to a different, smaller grotto, although he had little recollection of travelling at all. He surmised that Como and the Sea-dwellers must have aided in his translocation. He was no longer submerged in water; perhaps there was an artificial air bubble exclusive to this particular alcove. Already, he could feel the lightheadedness of before receding; he was loathe to make conjectures without more evidence but it would seem that, as Doctor McCoy had cautioned, his exo-skin was not adequately providing oxygen to his lungs, possibly compounded by potential malfunctions of the exo-skin resulting from the shock delivered to his person.

“ _He does not look well enough to move, let alone join minds with us_.” Como’s voice rose in agitation.  

The resounding silence, interspersed only with the rustle of fin-ridges furling and unfurling, suggested that Como was in conversation with one of the Sea-dwellers. Indeed, as the resounding ache behind his eyes and the drumming in his ears receded, he could discern the silhouette of a Sea-dweller, the markings on their face at once familiar yet foreign. It was probable that they had been part of the formation.

A loud spark of anger _—_   Como’s or the Sea-dweller’s, he was too tired to examine _—_   seared across the forefront of his mind and Spock mentally scrabbled to shore up his shields. The spark sputtered dead immediately; a tiny tendril of apology was nudged rather clumsily against the edges of his mind. It was akin to the sensation of pressing a hand hard into a burn wound. He could not hide the involuntary wince as much as he tried.

“ _I would damn well speak in your tongue if I could_ ,” Como countered. “ _I do not control the tides of mind-speak as you do. I do not wish to cause harm where harm has already been received_.”

An answering rustle, and the vague form of an answer that skirted just round his battered shields. The telepathic presence, controlled and made intentionally minute, began to recede.

“Wait,” he found himself calling out. “May I speak with you?”

Suddenly, it became of the greatest importance that he continued communications with the Sea-dwellers. It was the only way of reuniting with the crew, of returning to the captain.

He was still First Officer and Science Officer of the USS Enterprise, and he had a mission to complete.

Rather laboriously, he pictured the parting of barriers as he intentionally opened the floodgates of his mind. In response, he only felt a feather-light touch, at once firm and professional as the mind-touch of a Vulcan Healer, and all soft concern, emotions he had only been on the receiving end of from cherished individuals like his own mother in his youth and more recently, at the hands of the captain and to some extent, Doctor McCoy.

_Rest. We will come to you in time._

* * *

When he awoke again, Spock tested his limbs gingerly and was gratified to find that he was capable of general motor control, although the finer movements of his fingers and toes were impeded by the occasional tremor. Sorting swiftly through his recent memories, as he did not recall initiating a healing trance, he could only assume that the Sea-dwellers had had some part to play in his recovery.

His time-sense told him that only a few hours had passed since he was struck unconscious by the initial attack. He was still supine on the same spot he had been in the previous time he awoke. Slowly, he shifted his body into a half-upright position. He noted that the makeshift billet beneath him moved with him, molding to his back, to accommodate the shift in weight.

“ _He awakes.”_ Como’s voice was hushed. Spock did not have to turn to know that a Sea-dweller resided in this grotto as well.

“ _They ask if you would join minds with us now_.” Spock met the Arkian’s gaze steadily. His gaze spoke of a searing urgency and some intense, unnamed emotion.

Spock inclined his head in agreement. “I would prefer to have a period of time to meditate but I concur that time is of essence.”

He rose to his feet, pleased to find his gait relatively steady as he followed the Sea-dweller to the exit, Como fast behind him. The way his exo-skin crackled over his skin as he made his way out of the healing grotto, however, was less reassuring. Perhaps there was merit _—_   unfortunate as it would be _—_   to the hypothesis that McCoy had about the exo-skin and compatibility with Vulcan physiology.

The main cavern was considerably larger than any of the grottos he had been in. Silhouettes drifted amongst the stalagmites; a few smaller figures  _—_   possibly younglings  _—_   darted around the overhanging stalactites in what looked like a revised version of the Terran game of tag. He felt the shudder of a pulse of mental energy run through him. All motions ceased. A few of the younglings fidgeted among the stalactites.

The remaining Sea-dwellers close to the sea-bed  _—_   adult, either random representatives or individuals who held key positions in the community  _—_   gradually assumed their positions in a loose circle within the bounds of the larger stalagmites, bare feet grazing the sea-bed.  A glance at Como revealed the Arkian’s gaze to be wandering all around the cavern; he seemed unperturbed by the curious display before them.

It was highly probable that he had bore witness to such a proceeding previously.

Spock reminded himself that Vulcans did not feel apprehension as he was gathered into the folds of the circle. The only consolation, if any was even required, was Como’s presence beside him as brushing shoulders, they joined hands in concordance with the rest of the Sea-dwellers in the circle. As in a phosphorylation cascade, the signal to make contact, both mental and physical, transmuted through the circle like a wildfire, spreading through the inner and outer circles. The resulting intensity burnt higher and deeper than even the fires of Vulcan’s Forge.

The sensation of many minds trickling into his consciousness was truly fascinating, to say the least. Unlike the clumsy mind-touch from Como, or the many pinpricks of contact  _—_   too many, too fast  _—_   of the younger Sea-dwellers that Kirk and he had encountered, their minds had a certain order to them, even as they felt like they yearned to venture off with the call of the tides.

The mental landscape morphed into an odd combination of Vulcan and the homeworld of the Sea-dwellers. It was most disconcerting, although their quick concession to such a landscape, almost certainly done in deference to his very human need for a sense of physicality in a meld, was appreciated. The mind-adepts of Vulcan had been most insistent that he rid himself of such a peculiarity.

The red sands beneath his feet were damp, although the viscosity was inconsistent with that of rainwater. He found himself kneeling, sifting his fingers through the moist sand. The susurrus of running water in the background intensified as his fingers firmed around an unusually large grain. He had the feeling that he was being guided toward a particular memory; whether it was his or one of the Sea-dweller’s remained to be seen.

He did not recall blinking but the next moment, the landscape had melted away into the dilapidated outskirts of Ark. When he looked down at the ground beneath his feet, the peculiar double vision of the muddied waters of the Arkian streets and the red sands of Vulcan superimposed onto one another gave him a brief moment of vertigo. All was silent; even the colours were muted.

A beat, then the sudden rush of sound and colour flooded his senses. He resisted the urge to close his eyes as the same series of events played out in front of him: the burn from skinning his knee against the wall, the semi-circle of young Sea-dweller faces at once steeped in curiosity and mistrust, the scream of the waterway opening, the keening of the victims that fell under the flash of electrified tridents.

Soft tendrils of sadness and pinpricks of anger that were not his own seeped into the memory. Ah, he was wondering when he would feel the Sea-dwellers’ presence. It was unlike any meld he had undergone. He wondered if this was how the Sea-dwellers communicated on a daily basis, or if it was merely a way to share memories and experiences. If the latter were true, it was certainly an interesting means of keeping memories alive, a literal living memory bank kept and curated by the whole community.

He tried to halt the memory, divert it back to the damp sands of pseudo-Vulcan, before it could veer off into private territory but he was only _one tiny eddy of water in an ocean /  come away with us into the tides, nestle your secrets, your fears and your joys into this place we call home_. Unbidden, images of his captain broke the surface of his mind: the hard lines of his body as he stood watch over him when he had fallen against the low wall, the warmth of his hand bleeding into the nape of his neck; the teasing smile as he glanced up at him, moments before they had crossed the wall, morphing into eyes widened in alarm, lips twisting in anguish, forming over the syllables of Spock’s name.  

He was not sure if the little eddies of non-judgemental curiosity made it better or worse. In mortified desperation, he clamped his eyelids firmly shut.

There was silence and darkness for a time. He felt a discrete presence at the edge of his mind; it held the familiar cadence of Como’s voice. He stayed put, a strangely bolstering presence beside him, as gently, his fists were nudged open, and a fistful of sand was poured over them, memories running molten through his fingers.

They did not belong to him this time. Distantly, Spock noted the logic in the Sea-dwellers’ approach in first acquiring a frame of reference from him before sharing their experiences with him. That being said, he hoped _—_   illogical emotion as it was _—_   against hope that emotional transference on his part could be minimised; he would rather come to terms with his… feelings for his captain in his own mental space.

The scene that _unfurled like a manta seeking shallow tides_ bore an uncanny resemblance to what he had seen with his own eyes. Council guards, unmistakeable from the gleaming crests on their shoulders, stood around two adult Sea-dwellers and one youngling, tridents raised. They were silent when they were felled; except in their minds, they were not, and Spock felt every spark of anguish in the throes of their deaths.  Similar scenes sifted through his mind’s eye. He wished to turn away but found he could not, for once again, he had no corporeal form to speak of.

The landscape shifted yet again. An unrecognisable terrain, a gushing river meandering through a lush rainforest, the sounds of life filtering into his ears as if through a film of water. As familiar stout figures emerged from the trees, it became evident that these were the ancestors of the Arkians who had first lived on land before fleeing to the world of water. They steered clear of the water, of the _darkened shapes that flit beneath the surface / they call us cursed shadows in the water_ because they were afraid, seeds of superstition taking root far deeper than any rational knowledge of science and technology could remedy. But the fear did not keep them from recognising the value of water, and they used it liberally for irrigation, for sanitation, for building lavish monuments for people of honour.

Some of those who were brave enough came close to the water’s edge when the drought began. _Desperation, fear / we were familiar with those emotions, all too familiar._

The day it rained, both peoples celebrated, the Sea-dwellers on their land counterparts’ behalf.

But the rain would not cease. It rained, and rained, and rained for months on end.

The waters rose and their glittering land city flooded.

The young and able-bodied rescued and evacuated as many as they could, but still, children drowned in their cribs and elders disappeared under the tides. They searched for higher ground but each time the waters followed them, and they soon realised the ground itself was betraying them, sinking under their collective weight.

Some looked to the skies for help, and yet more of them worked feverishly away into the night to recreate and modify schematics to bring their city to the sky.

A select few looked to the waters and it was there that they found the Sea-dwellers. Among them was the High Councillor of many bloom-cycles past. The rest of the High Council were not convinced that these cursed shadows from the water could help them. Many were wary about these beings who would not, could not speak.

What could these simple creatures know about rebuilding their city?

The High Councillor was inclined to agree but she had taken an oath to protect her people; she had not given up her name for the awesome burden/responsibility of her rank for nothing. Fear buffered against her mind when she first joined minds with they who dwelled in the waters - Sea-dwellers - but she did not shy away.

In turn, they offered her a vision of their glittering city remade in the waters down below.

The scene melted away into that of the city of Ark, in its nascent stages of development, the skeleton of its landscape (half-finished spires, the gentle swell of smaller domes that were to house the Art Museum and the Science Gallery) was unmistakable even when laid bare. Older, clunkier versions of the shuttle pods _—_   maintenance and construction vessels _—_   hovered around unfinished buildings; smaller figures flitted around the exterior of the Dome, unbeknownst to those engaged in the flurry of activity within. His field of vision focused on a few of them  _—_   Sea-dwellers of varying ages, each of them with their webbed hands pressed up against the surface. Where their hands made contact, the surface lit up in an intricate pattern of luminescence. Within the scene, a vague feeling of _uncertainty acceptance determination_ that did not originate from the Sea-dwellers was transmuted into clumsy mind-speech: that which they called the Dome now, a literal gift of life in every sense of the word, was one of the few ancient sea-creatures that inhabited the waters long before the Arkians would, long before even the Sea-dwellers came to live among the tides. It was the greatest gift they could offer to their land counterparts: a home.  

Spock could not contain the burst of surprise that suffused his being. Fascinating. An intriguing display of commensalism, inquilism to be precise.

In return, the High Council agreed to invite a few of them to live within the suburbs. The Sea-dwellers thought it to be a gesture of welcome, of acceptance. The Council called it insurance.

The scene shifted again. The contrast was hugely jarring. An indeterminate time had passed. Council guards lined the streets that now held the familiar spires and domes of Ark in the distance. The High Councillor had been discharged of her duties. She no longer knew what was best for the people, not when she was more often seen on the outskirts of Ark, communing with the beings who were incapable of speech themselves. Increasingly, there had been talks among the people of Ark about the mind-powers of these creatures; they would speak straight into one’s mind when one slept, channeled the call of the darkened waters through their intrusive mind-touch. They said that the coral-creatures that they brought with them heightened their mind-speech.

There was no two ways about it, the rest of the Council decided. These devils must return to the seas whence they came.

The abridged history of the Arkians and Sea-dwellers seared itself into the underside of Spock’s eyelids, so much so that he barely remembered who he was when the landscape collapsed itself back into the now-familiar wet sands of pseudo-Vulcan.

Figures darted by him in the air  _—_   no, the water. It was getting harder to reorient himself to each shift of landscape, each transformation of pseudo-physical space. He could at least recognise that this was less of a mimicry of an actual space and memory, but rather an interim space that held a collection of various snapshots of life. Ahead of him, he sighted Como, his face a chiaroscuro of light and memory.  He allowed himself to drift and peered, in turn, at each passing bauble of faint light.

Two younglings, one seated behind the other, the older plucking at and grooming the fin-ridges of the younger. The next bauble yielded a view into what looked to be a festive gathering, a great big circle of Sea-dwellers dancing around the stalagmites, the waters reverberating with the beat of a hundred minds in tandem. Then, two lovers, webbed fins entwined, fin-ridges held fast against each other.  

Memory and light bled into each other, slowly at first, and then with great haste, like the traditional watercolours that his mother used to dabble in. Soon, he was seeing Como and his companion, webbed fin pressed shyly up against gloved hands, the way they ducked their head against the crook of Como’s shoulder, the silent mirth in the lines of their body as they wriggled out of his grasp, smile thrown across their shoulder as they resumed their swim-race against the tides.

He _—_   they  _—_   were looking out of Como’s eyes now, and his companion was gazing up at him.

The silhouette receded, to be replaced by the soft planes of Kirk’s body, leant in toward him, caught in mid-delivery of some witty comment, yet another private joke, smile curving his lips.  The recent shore leave they spent together, before Lester’s attack on Kirk left him uncharacteristically withdrawn. Spock remembered.

They were having a quiet night in after dinner, sharing a room in one of the holiday inns planet-side; Kirk had ignored all attempts on Spock’s part to remind him of his usual… escapades with a small, sad smile and a faraway look in his eye.

Spock knew this memory well. In the next moment, Kirk would lean in close, smelling of freshly-laundered flannel and the same shower gel Spock had used; he would briefly touch a warm hand to the juncture where bare neck and shoulder met. The feel of it would linger there for the better part of the evening as they conversed, warm and familiar.   

Kirk reached out. / They let go of Como’s hand.

Distantly, Spock noted that the meld was steadily spiralling out of control. He was Como again. They had been ambushed. A circle of guards had been waiting for him and his companion on the outskirts of Ark. The High Council had had their suspicions for a time, the Art Councillor and the aide for even longer. He had been caught red-handed at last, in the act of fraternising with the enemy, savage beasts who purportedly held no more sentience than a sea-clam.

Their body jolted in his arms, eyelids twitching even as their heart stilled. They looked like they always had in repose, when waltzing through the tides had left them sleepy, head curled against the crook of Como’s neck.

Except they would dance no longer with the tides.

_Anguish resignation / the cycle is unforgiving as the tides / watch!_

An Arkian who had lingered a little too close to the boundaries of Ark discovered by patrolling guards. An ensuing scuffle that ended all too quickly. The Arkian fought valiantly, clinging to a tiny bundle in their arms but soon succumbed to her wounds. The child drifted from her grasp, quiet if not for the resounding waves of distress broadcasting from his mind.

The guards paid no heed, filing away in an orderly fashion; all but one,  who gathered up the child, the tentative, almost tender way his fingers soothed over the head of the child at odds with the brutality moments before.

The markings on the child’s head, unlike that of Ark but fainter than those of the average Sea-dweller.

A spark of horrified realisation, carrying the texture of Como’s mind, zinged through their joined consciousness.

A life for a life. His parent’s for his. Somehow, he who would be of Ark was spared.

The spray of blood lingered in the waters. Spock now knew why the sands of pseudo-Vulcan were damp.

Vulcan came into view again. This time, the broken body of I-Chaya slumped over a growing patch of dampness, the air burnished with the metallic scent of blood.

Shakily, Spock reached out a hand, unsure if he would have a physical body this time.

His hand, when it fisted in the matted fur, was that of a child. He knew without a doubt it belonged to a half-Vulcan child seven years of age, desolate in the face of his childhood companion’s sacrifice.

He had not cried when he was humiliated by his peers, or when he was referred to as an “outlier”, “a data point” by the Vulcan healers time and again when his parents brought him to them to have him examined, the circumstances of his birth and his continued frailty being the chief reasons for the visits.

His tears would keep the earth around I-Chaya moist but why should the desert care for his tears? It was empty and devoid of feeling, as he should have been -

The waters were barren as the desert had been.

The mind-scent of death swathed the tides. The deadened stumps of the coral-creatures swayed in the water, a mocking caricature of themselves when in full bloom.

They had razed this sacred place of life to the ground.

There were to be no more mind-words, no more thoughts exchanged between Sea-dweller and Arkian.

There will be no new life, only death; the deaths of their kind, younglings and elders, friends and lovers  _—_  

Spock felt Como jolting out of the joined meld like a component coming loose in a circuit. The minds in his head flickered out of phase one by one in quick succession. His fingertips still sung with the haunting songs of the ocean, the water soothing down the sides of his aching body and mind. He could not be sure if the breathlessness he felt was a product of the lingering memory or the exo-skin’s incompatibility again.

Dimly, he recognised that the remaining Sea-dwellers had rearranged their formation into a vague shape of a semi-circular shoal and were in the process of herding him and Como away, although the destination remained unclear. One of the Sea-dwellers, with markings that resembled those of the Sea-dweller that had been with them in the healing cave, broke from the formation. As the other Sea-dwellers drifted back amongst the stalactites, the lone Sea-dweller led them back into the grotto, then lingered at the opening. They did not enter, a dim presence at the fringe of their physical and mental space.

Returning to breathable air was truly a much-needed respite; he all but clawed at the film of exo-skin to release its hold on him. Compounding that problem, Spock’s telepathic shields were fraying at the seams. If the way the short, sharp beats of distress, feelings of conflicted anguish that were not his own, pounded against his mind was any indication, Como was not in any better condition.

“ _My people have a saying_ ,” Como began, slumped against the walls of the grotto. Then, he stopped short, his face contorting as though he had been struck.

A peculiar sensation rose in Spock’s chest. Gently, Spock laid a hand against his tunic-clad shoulder, sitting down cross-legged in front of him; it took more effort than it should.  As he recalled, his captain had always employed the method of tactile contact on many occasions to comfort bereaved or unwell crew-members, himself included; he could not speak for the others beyond casual observation but he was certain it was an effective remedy, if even a Vulcan such as himself could respond positively to it.

“As a child of two worlds, you are of both peoples and both peoples, of you.”

Even as his lips formed around those words, Spock felt something inexplicable loosen within his chest. Como started at his words. He glanced down back down at his hands, the dim light spilling across the matte fabric of his gloves.

“ _I have always known that I was not of Ark. The tides called to me, in a way none of my peers understood. To them, they were but currents, easily broken down by science, and built up into a thing of mystique by poetry and song.”_

His hands clenched, knuckles taut with tension. “ _But to know that my second birth, where my life began in Ark, was built on the sea-bed of so much bloodshed, so many deaths, my birth-mother’s death… How can I be a son, a son of the tides, if I have only lived half a life? If I have only lived a lie?”_

 _“_ I am not one to believe in predestination but perhaps there is some merit in the thought that the tides have carried you to Ark for a reason,” Spock mused. Realising Como’s gaze had fallen on him, he pressed on, ignoring how years of Vulcan training had made him instinctively shy away from speaking of the deeply private. “My parents struggled to conceive me. Although Earth and Vulcan had established a close relationship over the years, conceiving a hybrid child of both Human and Vulcan descent was largely unheard of. It took many attempts, and even then, there were many occasions in which the Healers were uncertain if I would survive.”

“ _You are half-Human_?” Como looked surprised. “ _My apologies, it never occurred to me that you were not fully of Vulcan_.”

As a child, perhaps even well into his years of adolescence, such a remark would have made him swell with pride, pride that he would have immediately tamped down to a simmer of satisfaction, but satisfaction no less at being recognised as solely Vulcan. Since integrating into the largely Human crew of the Enterprise, and working alongside Human captains, that had changed.

Now, he merely inclined his head. He no longer felt shame in being of Earth and of Vulcan.

“I often wondered about the purpose of my existence, and if my parents’ continued attempts to conceive me were logical. I was raised as a full-blooded Vulcan at my father’s behest but it was clear that I would never be regarded as such in the eyes of my peers and elders. Where was the logic in the existence of an individual who was not accepted by his community and himself? Yet, despite the disappointment I knew it would bring to my father, I left Vulcan to pursue the stars instead, and in doing so, rediscovered the part of me that I had tried so valiantly to repress in my youth.”  

Como looked pensive but all too soon, the thoughtfulness in his face seemed to take a dark turn.

A soft exhalation, a muttered word of thanks, and then he let out a short, sharp bark of laughter, vocal chords grating together unpleasantly. “ _All these questions of identity and home, and all my mind circles back to again and again is their death._ ” He glanced up at Spock. “ _I know you must have seen it in my mind during the joined meld. And I know you must think less of me for it._ ”

“There is no shame in mourning the passing of one that you care deeply for,” Spock returned. Surak knew what he would have done if it had been Kirk who had been killed. His heart stuttered in his side at the thought. As it was, he could not be sure if his captain was safe. He could only hope that the High Council would see reason, and that the crew’s status as guests of the Federation would keep them safe for a little longer.

All his vaunted Vulcan control, and his mind, too, would not stop circling round James Kirk. If only they had been bonded in the way of his people… No, he must not indulge in hypothetical scenarios that were contingent on a multitude of factors beyond his control.    

“ _They were going to tell me their birth-name when the next bloom-cycle came._ ” Como’s voice came out in a choked rush on his next words. “ _I didn’t even know their name._ ”

A sharp, acrid pulse of distress seared through his newly-reinforced shields like hot iron through paper. Spock closed his eyes in commiseration, intentionally keeping his shields down, allowing the grief and regret to throw itself _like dying narwhals who have got nowhere left to go_ against the shores of his mind.

However, when the waves of distress kept coming, mixed in with a whole cocktail of other emotions  _—_   _anger like a tidal wave who are they to invade our land again / fear a slow icy trickle where will the little ones hide / sorrow for the deaths to come for what they must do_ , Spock grew cognizant of the fact that it was no mere emotional transference from one individual, much less from the individual before him. His eyes snapped open.

Como met his gaze, his face a frozen rictus of horror.

“ _The Arkians. They come with the tides_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Attempted genocide, historical trauma, mentions of violence against unarmed civilians, mentions of blood.


	5. the tides beat the loudest heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [Atlas](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/146222/atlas-5aa944cf31dad) by Terisa Siagatonu.

Darya had seen a great deal of amazing worlds and lifeforms during the short period of time since she had been transferred to the Enterprise, but no other scene had ever filled her with such awe or quite so literally stolen the air from her breathing gills.

“ _They’re… They’re beautiful,_ ” she breathed, the weight of the mission that had been pressing in on the spaces of her mind momentarily lifting. Now that she was listening closely, she could almost hear the soft whoosh of breath, or perhaps the steady thump of a pulse.

The Arkian laughed, a low melodic sound. “ _That is only the surface of the ocean depths, my child. How would you like to speak with them?_ ”

Darya turned in surprise. Enthralled as she was by the spectacle before her, she was still, first and foremost, a Starfleet officer; while this would certainly bring her one swim-length closer to the mission objective, she was also wary of how easy it appeared to be.

“ _I may_ ?” She asked, hesitant. “ _How may I speak with they who give life?_ ”

The Arkian smiled, looking vaguely indulgent. She tapped at the side of her neck. “ _Speak with your true voice, my child. Tell them of the songs and currents of your home-world_.”

Darya blinked, bemused. Then, a jolt of recognition ran through her. The modified UT. She had grown so used to wearing it on her person that it never occurred to her that she had not been speaking with her true voice for a time, in deference for the non water-based environment of a starship. She had been debating between continuing with her current arrangement, or opting for a more invasive surgical procedure to incorporate the modified UT into her being. Privately, she was glad that she had yet to undergo the operation. Not only would it have prevented her from fulfilling her role here, it would have felt like she was losing another piece of her world-that-is-home.

She gently prised the modified UT from the hollow of her throat, until she heard a soft click. As she was doing so, she noted that the Arkian had moved quietly over to the far edge of the domed room, pressing a palm to the curved interior of the dome. Where her palm made contact with the material, a delicate web of light unfurled slowly, then all at once. A single pulse of light shot up into the darkness above; as if a switch had been tripped, smatters of light burst into life, sluicing along the arc of the dome and settling into a dim ambient glow. It appeared to be quiescent, membrane potential of each and every neuron in this vast circuit at rest for the moment.

The distant susurrus of water grew into a steady rush, like the sounds of the tides lapping at the entrance of the alcoves in her world-that-is-home. With soft wonder, Darya watched as synapses began to fire around the base of the dome, signals taking small stuttering steps at first, then beginning to leap across darkened chasms, a dizzying cascade spiralling upward.

“ _The waters will hear your true voice_.” The Arkian’s voice was serene even as Darya looked down in surprise at the chamber floors that were beginning to flood with water. The waters licked at her Fleet-issued boots, shined to near mirror-brightness, closing over the hem of her uniform pants and slowly but surely, past her waist.

She kept silent, waiting for the waters to close over her mouth and breathing-gills. The water was warm, pleasantly so, like the summer waters of her world-that-is-home. Once fully submerged, it took her a while to realise that the soft reverberations that buffeted against her sides could not be natural currents of any kind. An artificial convection current? She was not certain what purpose it might serve. All around her, the gleam of the neural circuit had faded to a quiescent state again. The cast of the light, softened through the billowing currents of the waters, felt quietly expectant.

She was not of certain mind about where she should begin, or how she should begin, at any rate. Darya looked to the Arkian for guidance; from her parted lips, a long note  _—_ of greeting, she presumed  _—_ was cast out like a fishing line into the waters.

She recalled the Arkian’s advice to share the songs and currents of her world-that-is-home. Retracing the eddies of her childhood memories, she managed to call to mind and tongue the first song she learnt as a youngling, one that spoke of belonging and identity.

 _This is how I was brought up,_ she tried to say. This was who she had been, and who she was now. Darya of her world-that-is-home, but also Darya of her home-that-is-world - the Enterprise where she served, lived, loved.

Around her, the reverberations that tickled against her uniform clad arms felt keenly curious. The circuit lit up haphazardly, neurons firing round and round in concentric circles. Why did she feel so strongly about this Enterprise? Was her world-that-is-home not her true home?

At the thought of her world-that-is-home, her breathing-gills seemed to close up, choked with emotion. A note of wistful mourning slipped into her song; she missed dancing through the waters with her brothers and sisters, listening to the songs sung by her parent-guardians and other elders and swaying with the tides.

Yet, that did not make her new home short of making up her whole world. Consciously, Darya kept the choke-hold of emotions at bay and focused on altering the frequency of her song-voice. It was of paramount importance that she communicated, in full, what her home-that-is-world meant to her.

The Enterprise was more than a vessel sailing through space, more than a temporary transport bringing the crew to new worlds.

The Enterprise was her home. The Enterprise was her world. The Enterprise was  _—_

Family.

The lights ceased their obsessive circling, dispersing upward in a starburst pattern. The susurration of the waters stilled. Where there was quiet anticipation, now, there were gentle waves of understanding.

Some time during the exchange, the Arkian had swum to her side, a contemplative look in her eye.

“ _I am most impressed by you, guest of the Federation_.”

Icy panic slithered down her neck. Her cover, as her Terran shipmates would put it, had been blown. It was only a matter of time. After all, despite Ark being space-worthy for the past few decades, the appearance of outworlders were likely few and far-between. The return of a Starfleet ship, and a Constitution class starship no less, was likely well-known to all in Ark.

“ _We come with good intentions_.” She returned, pressing her fingers immediately to her forehead.

There was an odd gleam in the Arkian’s eye; if she did not know any better, she would have said that she looked almost amused.

“ _We had to be certain you did._ ” The use of the inclusive pronoun did not escape Darya’s notice. She wondered if they who give life was aware of their ongoing conversation. If her hypothesis  _—_ the frequency of her song-speech being compatible with the brain waves of the Dome lifeform  _—_ held a few grains of truth, then they must be listening in at the moment.

“ _We only wish to contact our shipmates. Our commander is not well._ ” Darya continued. There was a distinct possibility that the Arkian was only biding her time before calling in the authorities; however, considering how such an action had not yet been taken and how she had been guided to communicate with the Dome creature, she was of relatively certain mind that the Arkian was not like those in the High Council. Testing the waters, so as to speak, she made an oblique reference to the Sea-dwellers. “ _And the other brothers and sisters who reside in the waters beyond Ark. They, too, are hurting_.” The Arkian’s expression remained placid. Darya took it as a good sign. “ _If there is some way to remove the communication barrier between us and our shipmates high above…_ ”

“ _You need only ask_. _They listen, always._ ”

With wonder, she watched the awesome sight of the pinpricks of light cascading down from above, as it had never done before. Where the lights touched, the interior surface of the dome became translucent, still interspersed with a labyrinth of lit neurons, hanging like stars in the expanse of the dome.

As the water slowly drained out around her, she dug out her communicator. As she reattached the modified UT, feeling paradoxically bereft, she found herself hoping that Starfleet had made their communicators sturdy enough to withstand water-logged conditions.

“ _Lieutenant Darya to the Enterprise. Enterprise come in.”_

A long pause, and then an answering chirp. The following words were beleaguered by bursts of static but they were the distinct tones of the communications officer on Beta shift nonetheless.

“Enterprise… zzst…. here. Do you… zzst… read me?”

* * *

Kirk’s head hurt inordinately as he and the landing party trudged to the assembly point, flanked by guards all around. Most of the guards were not exactly assigned to watch over them; from the way  the Art Council representative looked vaguely self-satisfied after shutting them down in the Council Chambers, Kirk was sure that they were quite low on the priority list right about now. That was fine. He rather enjoyed being underestimated.

The party came to a stop where the shuttle pods were docked. A pulse of pain seared through his head. He winced. He was fairly certain that he had a mild concussion of sorts.

Bones, in typical Bonesian fashion, noticed, of course.

“Jim, let me take a look at your head,” Bones asked, already peering at his eyes, no doubt to gauge the size and responsiveness of his pupils.

Before Kirk could acquiesce or decide to make his excuses, the soft chirp of the communicator sounded.  It must be Lieutenant Darya. He discreetly retrieved his communicator, shielding it with one hand.

“Alright, Bones, do your thing.” At Bones’ incredulous stare, Kirk gestured to the communicator in his hand with a tilt of his head; he almost immediately regretted the action when the throbbing in his head intensified. “Cover me.”

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones muttered but moved to comply, fingers gently but firmly probing at the back of his skull, shielding the communicator in his hand at the same time with his body. Uhura had automatically assumed the the role of the lookout, unobtrusively also moving her body between his and the now stationary guards.

“Enterprise to Captain Kirk. Come in, please.” The communicator crackled to life in his hand, the burst of noise a little too loud but nonetheless a balm to his weary spirit.

Next to him, Uhura started on a steady stream of random comments and observations, her melodic voice intentionally projected to obfuscate his communications with the ship from curious ears. Kirk cast her an appreciative glance.

Darya must have managed to disable the shield controls somehow, or at least put whatever was jamming their party-to-ship communications out of action for the time being. He had expected to hear from the lieutenant _—_ he hoped she hadn’t met with too much trouble _—_ but this was a pleasant surprise. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he turned back to his communicator.

“Lieutenant, ah, Palmer, get me Mister Scott.” Technically, Scotty was next in the chain of command, with Captain, First Officer and CMO off the ship but he usually just let the man stay in Engineering where he did his best work. They had not been expecting any trouble for this mission, after all. This, however, qualified as an emergency.

“Scott here, Captain.” Kirk raised an eyebrow at the prompt response. Was the man on the bridge? “I know you said that ship-to-party communication would be compromised and we still dinnae found a way to fix it.” The frustration in the Scotsman’s voice was apparent. “I dinnae expect the Lieutenant to check in just now. But it was a good thing that the lassie did! She said that the crew was under house arrest by the Arkians? And you made contact with the Sea-dwelling critters?”

Scotty’s agitation was palpable even through all the static.

“It’s a little complicated.” Understatement of the century if he ever heard one. “A subset of the Council are xenophobic and protectionist, definitely hostile. We’re currently under watch by the Council guards. They’re spearheading an attack on the Sea-dwellers.” He paused. “We think the Sea-dwellers have got Spock, too.”  

An indignant splutter from Scotty, interspersed with more static. The connection was breaking up.

“Is the transporter functional? We’re heading for the original beam-down point as soon as we can. Doctor McCoy will give you the signal.” Bones paused in his examination, brow furrowed, looking like he was about to interrupt. Kirk gazed directly at Bones, silently willing him to understand. “I want you to beam them up once they are assembled, even if I am unsuccessful in retrieving the Commander. That’s an order.”

In the distance, the hulking figure of the head guard loomed nearer as he walked down the line of guards assembled. Hurriedly, he finished, “and have Darya meet us there as well. Kirk out.”

He snapped the communicator shut, tucking it in the waistband of his uniform pants. It was just in time too, because the head guard was starting to direct them into respective shuttle pods.

“ _Leader Kirk, your people will not travel together,_ ” the head guard stated. Kirk narrowed his eyes, ready to refute his demand.  “ _We may have need of your medical man_.”

“And so do we.” Kirk was not in a charitable mood, and it was not just his head wound talking. Besides, the whole point of this operation was a search-and-rescue, and how was he going to rescue Spock if his CMO wasn’t going to be available to treat him after? There was also no way in hell that he was going to lose another crew-member to this unnecessary conflict.

“Jim, it’s going to be fine.” Bones’ voice was gentle, his words reassuring. “I’ll rendezvous with you, the hobgoblin and the others later.” Bones accepted the medkit brought to him by one of the guards. The significance of Bones specifically including Spock’s name was not lost on him.

The soft hiss of the hypo against his neck relieved the pain in his head for the time being. The Head Guard looked disgruntled at Bones for immediately using the medical supplies on Kirk but said nothing, merely directing the doctor away with a grunt.

Kirk and Uhura were directed into a different shuttle pod, a smaller one that conveyed a mix of Council guards and members of the citizen defence force. As they moved off in the direction of the Sea-dweller’s place of habitation, Kirk felt none of the wonder he had felt when they were first led through the waters to the city of Ark. The blooms of algae seemed to drift like deadwood in the water, the depths of the water seemingly hiding a multitude of potential threats.

They had been gliding, swift and silent, through the waters for a while when Uhura suddenly spoke up, voice hushed but urgent. “Captain. Captain, look!”

A slight ringing had started up in his ears. He raised his head with some effort. The waters had grown darker as they progressed but just ahead of them, there were the unmistakable silhouettes of the Sea-dwellers, arranged in a defensive ring above the curves of an interconnected web of grottos.

To the edge of formation was a very familiar figure, looking worse for the wear and a far cry from his usual immaculate, efficient self, but still very much alive.

Spock.

* * *

 Spock watched the shuttle pods in the distance.

“ _Do you think your crew-mates are aboard those pods_?” Como murmured from beside him.

“For their sake, I would rather they were not,” Spock returned. But then, he recalled how the look of anguish on Kirk’s face was belied by the determined set of his jaw and that particular obstinate look in his eye. The look in his eye that spoke of a steadfast belief in no-win scenarios, that foretold unpredictably clever manoeuvres that would stymie and frustrate opponents. He knew that the captain would stop at nothing to come to his rescue, as Spock would him.

The Sea-dweller closest in proximity to him stiffened. They were drawing closer. The normally translucent sheen of the pods were resolutely opaque; he could not search for his captain’s face even if he desired to. Again, he found himself wondering, illogically and shamefully so, how different it might be if he shared a mind-link with his captain.

As the passengers _—_ not civilians or even Council members, he realised with a jolt, but troops upon troops of guards _—_ vacated the shuttle pods, Spock caught a flash of Command gold in the periphery of his vision. He was aware that humans  _—_ and even half-Vulcans  _—_ could see things they desired to see in times of great pressure, or if the desire was sufficiently great.

“ _Sea-devils_.” The booming voice of the head guard reverberated through the water. “ _We do not take lightly crimes against our people. We  give you five angler-blinks to surrender and to return our High Councillor’s son.”_

Como looked far from ready to reunite with his people, especially knowing what the Arkians had committed; a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw.

Spock scanned through the multitude of faces before him, hyper-aware of the thudding of his heart against his side. It was only logical to assess the situation and the number of hostiles, or even the presence of potential allies.

He was only vaguely aware of the waves of _anger sorrow fear_ roiling all around him as his eyes alighted on a familiar visage; even from a distance of a good few metres, he was able to trace his gaze over the determined line of that jaw, and the broad uniform-clad shoulders.

There was no mistake about it. The man was James Kirk.

Noticeably, his heart rate quickened by 5.2 beats per minute.

Even as he regulated his physiological reaction to seeing his captain again, he noted that there was only one other uniformed figure beside him. While he was gratified to see that Lieutenant Uhura was safe, he had been expecting to see _—_ at the very least _—_ Doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Darya. The captain turned his head slightly to the side, lips moving. Spock was 89.4% certain that his captain had a plan.

The waves of distress around him reached a fever peak. The Sea-dwellers around him had linked arms, and a susurrus of anger rippled through the formation. _How dare they accuse them of murder when they have done nothing but maim and kill their kind?_

Spock blinked at the unexpected clarity of that stray thought. It was the last lucid thought for a while because the Sea-dwellers chose that moment to rush against the interlopers in synchronisation. Both Como and he were swept up in the execution of the full frontal assault; fin-ridges, stiffened in anger, glanced past his elbows and sides, the water frothing with movement. He was acutely aware of the sparks of pain that were beginning to make themselves known again.

The scream of trident against the reinforced cartilage of fin-ridges echoed the mental cries of the Sea-dwellers. Flashes of light flared, artificially bright, against the depths of the sea. Vulcan eyesight was generally keener than those of their human counterparts but it was proving to be a disadvantage. He raised a hand to shield his eyes; a spark ran down his exoskin at that minute contact. He needed to find his captain, preferably before his exo-skin malfunctioned again.  

A body bumped against his side. It was an Arkian, their eyes glassy, wide open in death. He closed his eyes for a moment. It was highly likely that many of these guards were simply following orders, unaware of the machinations of the High Council, although the seeds of bigotry had definitely sown themselves deep in their minds. However, regardless of the complications, the loss of life was always regrettable.

A flash of gold up ahead caught his attention but his gaze was quickly redirected. In his direct line of sight, he saw Como, stock-still in the midst of the flurry of motion, paralysed. For all his show of bravado and his outward display of anger at what the Arkians had done, it was another matter entirely to attempt to bring harm to those who he had called his people for so long a time.  It was understandable that he would ‘freeze up’, to employ a Terran colloquialism, considering how he was most certainly not trained military personnel.

It was, however, a fatal mistake to do so in the heat of a battle.

Spock barely had time to calculate the trajectory of the stray trident, and the force of the momentum necessary to propel their bodies clear of that strike. In the instant that he threw his body against Como’s, he realised that he had not properly factored in the drag coefficient of water. He was not going to be thrown clear of the trident’s trajectory.

Apart from the pain that radiated from the site of his original wound, the blow to his side should be considered a relatively glancing one.

The exo-skin crackled in an alarming manner, possibly a result of a short circuit. Excruciatingly, he lifted a hand and tapped it experimentally against his forearm. The material receded but did not reform around his body as he expected it to.

He was now dead in the water, the only meagre supply of air being furnished by his lungs.

* * *

Kirk had often wondered how certain acronyms endured the passage of time. Right now, he was recognising, firsthand, that this was likely because certain experiences were universal and transcended the boundaries of time and space, such as how quickly things could become FUBAR.

The appearance of the High Councillor’s son among the Sea-dwellers was a surprise, but not entirely unexpected. He didn’t seem to be a hostage; if he was, the Sea-dwellers had a very unusual way of going about using hostages to their advantage. What was surprising, however, was the way the Sea-dwellers plunged themselves immediately into a firefight without any room for negotiation of terms.

It was too abrupt, too impetuous and premature for a people who must have been used to lying low for the sake of their continued survival. Then again, perhaps they had unanimously decided that the time to wait and play nice  was over.

Kirk kept feeling that there was some kind of underlying nuance that he was missing. It was a feeling that had plagued him since they beamed down to Ark.

And then there was Spock.

He had tried to keep him in his clear line of sight ever since Uhura spotted him while aboard the shuttle pod but doing so in the middle of a full-blown skirmish was proving to be rather difficult. He had to keep looking.

Right before the skirmish started, he had instructed Uhura to head to the original beam-down point to liaise with Darya and Bones. He was glad that he did, not because he did not have faith in his crew’s ability to defend themselves and each other, but because there was no sense in all of them being swept up in this senseless fight when they could be carrying the mission forward.

He turned, ducking to avoid an errant strike. There! A flash of Science blue, right next to the High Councillor’s son. Squinting, he noticed how his First’s posture was stiff, his expression pinched. He hadn’t expected Spock to be completely well after the initial attack; hell, he hadn’t even known whether to expect him to be alive in the first place but there was something clearly wrong, if the way his face seemed to grow increasingly paler was any indication.

Como’s body was angled toward Spock for a moment before a spray of froth, darkened with blood, propelled him a good few metres away, into the thick of the battle. Kirk pushed down the swell of relief _—_ not green, not Spock’s _—_ and swum forward with a few quick, broad strokes. His worry for his First superseded the residual guilt at not checking up on the High Councillor’s son.

It was a good thing too that he went straight to the Vulcan because Spock was barely conscious by the time Kirk got to his side.

His mind supplied him with a slew of irrelevant invective. He grasped Spock’s forearms, frowning at the way the remnants of the exo-skin fizzled and sparked in the water. He almost let go instinctively at the bite of electricity in his fingers. Keeping one hand on Spock’s forearm to anchor him, he patted his face with the other. Spock’s eyelids fluttered, eyes struggling to keep open. He felt Spock’s hands fist loosely in his exo-skin clad tunic.

“Hey, hey. Just keep awake, okay?” Kirk asked, voice frantic, his movements equally hurried as he let go of Spock’s arms for the moment to tap repeatedly at his own exo-skin. If he could somehow transfer his exo-skin to Spock for the moment, get some of the oxygen into those lungs, get that large brain of his online and running again...

The exo-skin wouldn’t deactivate, much less remold itself around Spock’s figure.  Momentarily, the aide’s face and matter-of-fact tone, just before the city tour started, surfaced in his head.

Shit. That’s what he meant when he said that the exo-skin was bio-coded.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

“Stay with me, Commander. That’s an order.” The pressure against the fabric of his tunic increased briefly at the use of his rank but soon started to slacken again as stray air bubbles escaped from the corners of Spock’s mouth.

How many precious moments did he waste on trying to transfer the damned exo-skin?

They were going to have to do this the hard way. He wasn’t even sure if the transfer of air, mouth to mouth, would work if one of them had the exo-skin on.

Grimly, Kirk tugged Spock closer with one arm around his waist, turning his own body to shield him against any other stray hits. The fingers of his other hand curled around Spock’s cheek; he took a deep breath and leaned in, sealing his mouth over Spock’s in one swift motion.

The first breath was easy but he was only all too aware of how this was going to be an uphill battle. When he was certain that he got the rhythm of it _—_ two breaths in from the nose, one breath out from the mouth _—_ down to a T, he moved his other hand to cradle Spock’s face. For every gasping breath that he took, for every shaky mouthful of air that he breathed into Spock, how many more did those desert-bred lungs actually need? Even with his eyes wide open, he couldn’t tell if Spock was responding well. The Vulcan’s eyes were closed, his hands now lax against his sides.

Something hot and desperate was clamping down on his insides, even as he tried to keep each breath steady. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t breathe for Spock forever. In his mind’s eye, he pictured his  _—_ their  _—_ silver lady soaring high in orbit around the planet, circling over this vast body of water. Find me, Kirk thought, feeling his lungs beginning to burn with the effort of breathing for two. Find us. Bring us home.

The flare of golden light in his peripheral vision had him on guard for another attack but his fears proved to be unfounded. He closed his eyes, relief swelling up within him at the familiar sensation of his molecules being disassembled.

 


	6. under the water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, for the art piece that launched a thousand ships (or just the one cough Kirk/Spock cough)... Chapter/artwork title from the song [Under the Water](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zVGQWw4Ap6o) by Aurora, suggested by the lovely ghostwise as well. Again, give the song a listen by clicking on the link!


	7. water, is taught by thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations of Vulcan phrases and sentences are courtesy of the [Vulcan Language Dictionary (VLD)](https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/main.php?cmd=browsecat&brcat=phrase). 
> 
> Chapter title from [this poem](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/water-is-taught-by-thirst/) by Emily Dickinson, a brilliant suggestion by ghostwise <3

They materialised in the Enterprise’s transporter room, Kirk’s lips still sealed against Spock’s.

Having had many missions end in an emergency beam-out, Kirk reacted immediately; he broke contact and quickly eased Spock’s unconscious figure onto the ground, one hand gently cradling the back of his head. Then, he was deactivating his exo-skin and barking out orders, even as he crouched over his First Officer’s prone form.

“Get Sickbay to send a team down here. I need Bones,” Kirk ordered. Scotty and the other ensign at the transporter controls exchanged bemused glances. “Now!”

Orders given, he wasn’t going to waste any more breath on doing anything other than reviving his First.

“Fuck, Spock,” he muttered in between chest compressions, the invective he normally only reserved for the worst type of situations slipping easily past his lips. He blew out a breath past unresponsive lips and came up for air himself. “C’mon, breathe. God damn it, breathe for me.” His voice hitched on the last word. “Please.”

A few more cycles later, and he heard the telltale clatter of feet. In the periphery of his vision, he saw the grav stretcher draw up next to him. Still, he pressed on, the rhythm of his movements _—_ one, two breaths, thirty compressions _—_ unbroken by the arrival. He couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. Not until he could be sure that Spock was alive and breathing.

Halfway through the twentieth compression, a hand laid on his shoulder gently but firmly eased him away from Spock.

“Captain, we’ll take it from here.” M’Benga’s baritone cut through the haze of fear that threatened to squeeze the air right out of his own lungs.

The fear didn’t really dissipate until Spock suddenly coughed, a dry, painful retching sound, but a glorious, glorious sound nonetheless. Water dribbled past his lips as he gasped for breath, chest heaving. Kirk wanted nothing more than to surge forward and hold Spock in his arms.

Command training took over; he sat back on his heels, fists clenching and unclenching on his lap, watching as Nurse Chapel and M’Benga got to work on Spock.

They were shifting him onto the lowered grav stretcher when a thought occurred to Kirk. “Where’s my CMO?”  

M’Benga did not look up, hands steady as he discharged the contents of the hypo that Chapel handed to him against Spock’s neck. Chapel spared Kirk only a glance. “Doctor McCoy hasn’t reported to Sickbay, Captain.” With that, they moved off with the grav stretcher, Spock’s prone figure disappearing from the transporter room as the doors closed with a whoosh.

“Scotty.” He pivoted on his heel. “Did you manage to beam aboard the rest of the landing party?”

The normally genial features of the Scotsman were haggard. “I cannae speak for the Doctor, Captain. Only Lieutenant Uhura and Darya were at the beam-out point. We just got them out no more than fifteen minutes ago. And it was only because we locked onto Mister Spock’s Vulcan life signs and did a broad transporter beam that we got the two of you outta there!”

He refused to let his mind linger on how much of a close call it had been; he silently thanked his Chief Engineer for that stroke of intuition.  

“Damn it,” Kirk muttered under his breath. What the hell was Bones playing at? Or worse, had he somehow been injured in the ensuing conflict and failed to get himself to the beam-out point?

“I’ll be on the bridge.” Scotty looked so relieved he might cry. “I want you to keep an eye out for McCoy and beam him out the second you can do it. Get to Engineering once you can. I want our ship ready for warp, just in case. I’m not taking any more chances with this mission.”

He got into the turbolift, giving the voice command for the bridge. Once it started moving, however, he changed his mind. “Computer, Deck Five.”

It was highly likely that Lieutenant Darya and Uhura were undergoing the proper decontamination procedures, and getting their wounds treated in Sickbay. He knew that Spock was probably in surgery and he was unlikely to get any updates but he was damned if he wasn’t going to check in on him in any way he could. At this point, Kirk was done lying or feigning nonchalance to himself about just how much he cared for his First.

“Captain!” Uhura rose from the biobed where she had been conversing in low tones with Darya.

“As you were, Lieutenant,” Kirk returned gently. “How are you two holding up?”

“Just some scrapes here and there, nothing serious.” Again, Uhura answered for the both of them. Darya was silent, looking down at her hands, her filament pressed down flush against her forehead.

“ _Sir, we saw Mister Spock being taken in for surgery. Is he…_?” Darya spoke up for the first time since Kirk entered Sickbay, voice quiet.

Kirk glanced over at the operating theatre, the “in session" light still on. “He’s going to be fine.” His voice was a lot steadier than he felt on the inside.

“I’m sorry to ask the two of you to do this now but I'm going to need a brief rundown of your reports. Especially yours, Darya.”

Darya straightened up immediately.  

“ _Captain, the controls for the shielding mechanism is linked to the Dome itself. It is a living circuit, made up of neurons. I was directed to interact-speak with it by the Keeper through the frequency of songs from my home-world and conveyed our peaceful intentions and need to communicate with our ship. The interference was neutralised soon after. It is likely that the thought waves of the being was at least partially responsible for the communication barrier._ ”

“The Hub is a living creature.” Kirk repeated, more a statement than a question.  That would explain how the Arkians had transitioned to living underwater so quickly and so well, their own technological and scientific ingenuity aside.

Darya nodded. Kirk directed his next question to both of them. “Is it possible that the Arkians had some way of communicating with it?”

Uhura looked thoughtful. “I haven’t had time to study the frequency of the Arkians’ spoken language but it is probable.”

Darya’s filament perked up. “ _The Keeper was of Arkian appearance, yes, and appeared well-versed with navigating the waters of song-speech with the being._ ”

A keeper of Arkian secrets, so readily giving them up to an outworlder? The Keeper was either secretly a Sea-dweller sympathiser, or this was not as simple as it seemed. Either way, it was probably a good idea to keep a close eye on their ship’s continued capability for ship-to-party communication and beaming for the time being.

Kirk turned to Uhura, the question he had been holding in since he noticed the doctor’s absence when he called for a med team from Sickbay finally rising to his lips. “Uhura, what happened down there with McCoy? Did he manage to make the rendezvous at all?”

For the first time in the conversation, Uhura averted her gaze, guilt flushing her features.

“I chanced upon Doctor McCoy after the conflict started but he was right in the thick of it, tending to a fallen guard. He told me to head on over to the beam-out point first to rendezvous with Darya and that he’ll join us later but he never did,” she paused, and then added quickly, as if steeling herself for a rebuke, “I was the one who contacted the Enterprise to beam us up a half-hour after he still hadn’t showed, sir.”

Damn it, Bones. Damn it.

“Not your fault, Lieutenant. You did what you had to.” He laid a hand briefly on her shoulder before he turned on his heel. “You two take it easy for the time being.”

The subsequent journey to the bridge passed in a blur. He barely remembered giving a nod of acknowledgement to Sulu who quickly vacated from the captain’s chair as he slipped into the seat.  

“Palmer,” Kirk barked at the lieutenant at the Communications station. “Open a channel to the High Council.”

Then, hopping out of his seat again, he paced up the platform, heading over to the Science station. A pang went through him at the sight of the unfamiliar figure _—_ Lieutenant Ho, he recognised  _—_ bent over the scanner.

She looked up as he drew near, her brows knitted into a frown.

“Sir, scanners indicate many life signs just outside of the city of Ark. They all seem to be heading out, like they’re leaving.”

Kirk felt a frission of foreboding run down his spine. “Can you pinpoint if those life signs belong to Arkians?”

“It'll take a while, sir. I'll have to recalibrate the sensors.”

“Noted, get on it. Help locate any human life signs as well. Doctor McCoy might be in need of an extraction.”

He just paced away from the Science station when Palmer spoke up.

“Captain, there’s still no response from the High Councillor.”

“Keep trying. Can you make contact with Doctor McCoy through his commlink?” Kirk paced around to the Communications station.

There was a burst of static, and then the sound of that distinctive Southern drawl.

Kirk all but leaned over the station. “Bones, what's going on? Can you get yourself to the beam-out point?”

“Jim… zzst… the connection… not good… but the Sea-dwellers… noted sympathisers in Ark leaving… we’re in … standstill… something about the Dome… shutting down?”

In that instant, all the dots seem to connect. The Sea-dwellers were not going to take the genocide of their kind lying down. They were fighting back with passive resistance.  

* * *

McCoy had just resuscitated three Arkian guards from the brink of death and sutured the wounds  _—_ which possibly might also have led to death were they left untreated for long  _—_ of four other guards and numerous Sea-dwellers. There had been some confusion on the part of the Sea-dwellers at first when he tried to treat their wounds, and justifiably so, but he was decidedly not appreciating the welts and cuts he received from flailing fin-ridges and other appendages.

He was also decidedly not in the mood for mind games, or impasses, or a combination of both.

One of the guards who had just arrived on the scene had been whispering furiously to the head guard for the past two minutes, ever since orders purportedly came from the High Council to halt the attack and reports came in about the mass exodus of Sea-dweller sympathisers on the outskirts of Ark. McCoy was willing to put his money on it that the two events were somehow related. Interestingly, the Sea-dwellers seemed all too happy to comply, choosing not to press their advantage even when the Arkians had started retreating back into a defensive formation. He definitely smelt a rat.

When his communicator had beeped out of the blue, he had almost jumped out of his skin. Thankfully, neither side seemed to pay him much heed, however, apart from a few sideways glances; clearly, they had worse things to worry about. It gave him sufficient time to relay whatever information he had on hand to the Enterprise in hurried whispers. He wasn’t sure if the static obfuscated the important bits of his message but that would have to do for now.

Oh, Jim was going to be so pissed at him for making the unilateral decision to stay but it was not like it was entirely his choice alone. There were Arkians and Sea-dwellers dying all around him. He would sooner revoke his medical licence than to stand by and watch a sentient being suffer in vain when methods of alleviation and treatment were on hand.

“ _If you are here for me, here I am_.”

A singular voice cut through the silent tension between the two peoples like a shark through water. At first, it was not clear to whom the voice belonged. A figure emerged at the forefront of the Sea-dweller formation. Well, he’d be damned! It was the High Councillor’s son himself. A spray of blood stained one side of his face.  What the devil was he doing here?

“ _Como._ ” The head guard pulled away from his informant, sounding less than pleased. “ _Cease your charades and your childish escapades. We have been informed of your… visits to these Sea-devils. Return with us to Ark at once and the Council may consider pardoning you._ ” 

“ _I will do no such thing_.” McCoy had to give it to the kid. He had guts. “ _Don’t you know why they’re all leaving? The Dome is shutting down. Ark will be left to the darkness of the tides, just as we had taken their gift of a home long ago and spat in their faces._ ” 

“ _You suggest that we negotiate with animals_!” The head guard was not backing down, old prejudices rearing their ugly heads even in the face of dire consequences. Behind Como, the rustling of Sea-dweller fin-ridges intensified at the overt insult. McCoy could feel himself bristling at the comment himself, despite being aware that there were several gaps in his knowledge with regard to the history between the Arkians and the Sea-dwellers. Several large gaps, actually.

Como’s voice was deceptively calm when he declared, “ _then Ark will die._ ”

“ _And why should you stand with them, after everything that the High Councillor has done for you, that Ark has done for you_?”

“ _Because I am of two peoples, and they, of me_.” McCoy realised that the minute movements in his hands were not simply the product of fidgeting. Some time during the exchange, he had slipped off his gloves to reveal webbed fingers that could belong to no Arkian, ground-dwellers who had long since cheated the inexorable tides of nature, superseding selection pressure with breathable exo-skins and living, breathing cities.

“ _We have let this injustice go on for too long. If the Sea-dwellers die, Ark will die in spirit anyway. What is a civilisation without compassion, without a mind open and changing as the tides?_ ”

A long pause, in which a muttering went up among the ranks of the guards, particularly within the citizen defence force. Then, came the long-awaited order, spoken quietly and with none of the bravado of before. “ _Stand down.”_ The head guard closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was something like defeat in those unfathomable depths. “ _The High Council respectfully requests your presence in the Chambers.”_

* * *

It turned out that the High Councillor was a lot more willing to negotiate  with all the cards finally played out on the table. By willing, Kirk meant now that he was apparently no longer being blackmailed and manipulated by the Art Council representative and his aide, with his (adopted) son’s heritage outed by himself, he was grudgingly accepting assistance _—_ or as he liked to call it, “constructive suggestions”  _—_ with regard to Ark’s internal affairs. There was still no telling how the rest of Ark would take the news of Como’s heritage; that was another dilemma in itself, if they should try to keep it under wraps and allow it to gain traction over time, or to rip the metaphorical plaster off in one fell swoop and make it an addendum to the press conference that would be covering a great deal of other matters, from the attempted genocide of the Sea-dwellers to the fates of the instigators.

The Art Council representative and the High Councillor’s aide were being held under house arrest in their quarters for the time being as the investigation into their charges were underway. It was a long time coming, in Kirk’s opinion. The Art Council representative replacement, hastily called up on short notice, was comparatively less vocal than her predecessor, for which Kirk was grateful. As it was, they had already spent the past half-hour locked in a heated debate about the state of Ark and how best to move forward from today’s harrowing events. Both Uhura and Darya had insisted on beaming down with him, and he was rather glad that they did. The Council members seemed greatly discomfited but awed at the fact that Darya had stumbled upon their oldest secret and managed to unravel it with speed and ease at the same time. Uhura was easily the one with the sharpest tongue in the room. The normally unassuming woman was not pulling any punches after all their crew had been put through, and she was slowly but surely browbeating some of the more conservative Council members into grudging agreement.   

“High Councillor, with all due respect,” Kirk countered for the third time since the impromptu Council meeting commenced. Next to him, Bones fidgeted and made to speak but a pointed glance from Kirk aborted any attempt. He was relieved to see that his friend was alright but that didn’t negate the fact that he technically did go against his order, even if it was for a good cause. “Bigotry doesn’t happen overnight. This isn’t just a matter of a few individuals being prejudiced. History has shown the influence of words on the people. You may contend that your guards were only following orders but how many of them had subconsciously been conditioned to see the Sea-dwellers as nothing more than animals, incapable of speech and thought in the limited way your people know speech and thought to be?” He paused, watching the faces around the table avert their glances. “We always fear what we do not know. But now that we do know, we should be fearing what fear has led us to become, what fear has driven us to do.”

“ _What would you have us do, Leader Kirk?_ ” The High Councillor’s tone was not mocking; there was genuine distress and haplessness in the way he spread his hands. Kirk could almost find it in him to feel sorry for the Arkian, if only he hadn’t been the inadvertent catalyst for the whole shebang in the first place. With greater power came greater responsibility, and the High Councillor had shirked that responsibility when he had let his own personal considerations _—_ his fear of his son  being outed as not of Ark and thus having his power delegitimized _—_ supersede his first and most important duty to his people. Ironically, his fear of having his seat of power shaken had most assuredly come to pass, what with the whole shitstorm that was the attempted genocide that he and the High Council sanctioned.

“The Federation would like to offer aid as much as they can but I’m afraid they can’t let something as serious as attempted genocide pass.” Outwardly, Kirk’s tone was polite but there was an edge to his voice that spoke of a complete intolerance for such acts. Much as he would have preferred to yell some sense into the High Councillor, he was aware that such an approach would be far from diplomatic, much less effective. Captain Mairany’s reports have clearly been remiss, although if it was merely a case of accidental negligence or intentional misreporting remained to be seen. He didn’t like to jump to conclusions but there was a distinct possibility that the High Council had done everything in their power to paint a rosy picture of Ark to the previous landing party.

“Think of it as, ah, a kind of probation, if you will. Starfleet would like to maintain contact with Ark, send a ship in a couple of years’ time to assess the situation. That is, if Ark is still interested in becoming a member of the Federation.” Here, Kirk cast a severe look around the Council Chamber. There was still a chance for them to back out. After all, not every advanced species and planet was obligated to join them _—_ far from it, in fact, and after the way the Arkians, and possibly the Sea-dwellers too, seemed to have viewed his crew as some kind of bargaining chip or a glorified means to intimidate and browbeat the other side into submission, Kirk was not so certain that they were not just bandying about the request for Federation membership yet again for their own agenda.

The High Councillor nodded his weary acquiescence. “ _I must speak with my Council again but we are certain on that front. We apologise for having shaken the bedrock of your trust in our time of need_.”

There was going to be a lot of rebuilding to do, and a lot of prejudice, institutional and personal, to be unbuilt. Of that, Kirk had no doubt.

“I’m sure your people and the Sea-dwellers have plenty to discuss.” Kirk demurred in lieu of further comment. Gesture of respect performed, he and his crew receded to the outer circle, in deference to the party of Sea-dwellers who swept into the Chambers; Kirk was not surprised to see Como near the front, his face still smudged with the blood of his people. For all but one, it would be their first time setting foot here; in the interest of working toward an Ark that was progressive and diverse in future, it would hopefully not be their last.   

* * *

“Captain’s Log Supplemental. The attempted genocide on Ark has been prevented and all our crew-members recovered from the planet’s surface. Lieutenant Commander Spock was the only serious casualty. Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Darya, Lieutenant Uhura and I beamed back down thereafter to participate in the Council gathering. The consensus of the High Council, after discussion with the Sea-dwellers that was greatly facilitated by the High Councillor’s son, was to establish a specialised subset of the Council for foreign relations, led by councillor-in-training Como. Breeding programmes for the scant few remaining coral-creatures, carbon-based lifeforms with known telepathic amplification capabilities, will be in effect as well in order to reinstate their population, and serve as a conduit for communication between the two peoples.” Kirk paused, collecting his thoughts. “The High Council has unanimously voted to maintain the request for Federation membership. It is our hope  _—_ and theirs  _—_ that significant progress, socially and institutionally, would have been made by the time Command sees fit to despatch another ship to survey Ark.”

The doors of the turbolift opened with a whoosh just as Kirk snapped his recorder shut. He did not need to turn to know that it was Bones who was hovering over his shoulder, a hypo probably already in hand.  

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Without being prompted, he raised his hands in a placating fashion but Bones’ frown did not dissipate. Kirk resisted the urge to wince when the hypo was brought down against his neck with the usual lack of finesse that seemed to be solely reserved for him.

“You do know that head wounds don’t just go away with a hypo and a kiss, right? Especially ones compounded by mild concussions.“ Bones drawled, his accent thickening at the end in agitation.

“Why, you offering to kiss it all better, Doctor?” Kirk snapped.

Instantly, he regretted the harshness of his tone. Maybe he wasn’t as over his little act of insubordination as he thought. Hell, it was probably more of the fact that he had a lot more on his mind. He felt his gaze drifting back to the comm unit for the fifth time since he had returned to the bridge. He was pretty sure Sickbay was going to stop answering his comms altogether if he kept that up.

From the way Bones’ gaze slid away and affixed itself on him again, softening in sympathy, it was clear that, conflict between them or no, the man was still aware of what was running through his mind.

Was he that obvious?

Kirk vacated the captain’s chair with a sigh. He did not miss the way the doctor matched his steps as he made for the turbolift, transferring the conn to Sulu as he did so.  

Once they were safely ensconced in the relative privacy of the turbolift, Kirk turned to Bones.

“Spock. Is he...?” He asked, words catching in his throat. It was true that he had been monitoring Spock’s status closely... well, as closely as he could, what with him running all over the ship and beaming back down planet-side as observer and mediator between the two estranged peoples. He had called into Sickbay so often that he was sure Nurse Chapel was liable to launch some kind of projectile at him the next time he set foot there, if only she weren’t quite so nice. Considering how he had been able to duck into Sickbay unmolested to sneak a glance at his First before heading to the bridge after beaming up for the second time, he was fairly certain that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

Spock usually had a sense of stillness about him but it had always been a controlled kind of stillness, the kind of stillness that spoke of carefully restrained strength and years of Vulcan training. The way he had lain on the biobed, pale and listless in repose, was so un-Spockian that it hurt to see.

Bones’ voice jolted him back into the present. “I’ve talked to M’Benga. Spock’s been through a lot this mission, physically and mentally. There might be some residual nerve damage resulting from the shock, some tremours now and then, but I’d expect his body will revert to normalcy with time, as will his brain readings. You know the hobgoblin. He’s a lot tougher than he looks.” Then, in a softer tone, “Jim, he’s gonna be alright.” And even quieter, almost impossibly so, “I’m sorry I wasn't around when you, uh, he needed me.”

Kirk let out a breath, not trusting his voice. He clapped a hand on Bones’ shoulder. “I know, Bones. I know.”

The turbolift came to a halt. Kirk gave Bones a pointed look as he continued to follow him down the corridor to the officers’ quarters.  

“Now, you go on and get some rest now. Spock’s not gonna be out of Sickbay till later.” Bones propped himself up against the bulkhead, feigning nonchalance, as if he meant to stop right by this nondescript stretch of wall all along.

“Physician, heal thyself.” The heat of Kirk’s parting shot was countered by his next words. “You get some rest too, Bones. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

Kirk headed into his own quarters, certain that Bones was still out in the hallway making sure he actually went into his quarters. Bones was a good friend and a good CMO, even with his not-so-covert mother-henning, perhaps even because of it. Not that he would divulge that particular thought to said doctor anytime soon.

He sat himself down by his desk, adamant to at least start on the post-mission report and other administrative matters. Paperwork was going to be hell, not to mention all the backlog from his time away, much as Spock had helped with it. He adamantly refused to let his thoughts stray to his First; it was a veritable Pandora’s box just waiting to be opened.

He was just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on the final bit of the report when he felt himself beginning to doze off.

* * *

Kirk was going to rescind his previous assessment of Doctor McCoy. He was very good, very good at his job. Not so good on the friendship front, it would seem.

Damn Bones and his hypos.

Ah, hell. His mind was functional enough to be aware that he was just being grumpy but the irrational, snippy part of him was inclined to feel entitled to feeling a little grumpy after the whole shitstorm of a mission. Well, it would seem that he owed having most of his brain back online to Bones, much as he still wanted to give the man a piece of his mind about slipping sedatives into his hypos.

He was rubbing at his eyes, gummy from his unplanned nap, when the door to his quarters chimed unexpectedly.

“Come,” he called, still running the heel of his palm over the kinks in his neck even as he rose and made for the door himself.

“Spock,” he uttered stupidly at the familiar figure silhouetted in his doorway. The Vulcan was still haggard and a long way from his usual immaculate self but Kirk was certain he had never been gladder to see anyone else in his life.

He had taken the time to change out of his Sickbay gown into a meditation robe, it would seem, or perhaps even had the time to return to his quarters for a change of clothes and a short meditation session. Judging from how his complexion looked a lot better for someone who was just released from Sickbay, Kirk was going with the latter. He was beginning to think that Bones had mastered the art of lying by omission, that sneak. Spock would only be out of Sickbay later, his ass.

His eyes drifted down to the chessboard clutched loosely in Spock’s arms. He had almost forgotten about the chess game they hadn’t finished the night that Spock approached him in the OD; Spock had admonished him for not paying closer attention to the needs of his body when he caught him dozing off mid-game. It seemed like a whole lifetime away now.

“My apologies, Captain. I was not aware that you were attempting to sleep. I can return at a more convenient time.” Spock’s voice, hoarser than normal but still that distinctive baritone, was a welcome sound indeed.

“That obvious that I’ve been napping, huh?” A laugh slipped past his lips. It’s never an inconvenient time with you, he wished to say, but his mouth remained stubbornly shut. Perhaps it was for the best. The doorway was no place to be tossing out emotional admissions and confessions of that nature.

He angled his body slightly, gesturing with his hand for Spock to come in when he realised that his First was clearly looking for a more overt invitation. Gently, he took the chessboard from Spock’s hands with the intent of setting it up but could not resist grazing just the tips of his fingers against Spock’s hands. He immediately felt like he had done something utterly illicit.

“How’re you feeling?” Kirk asked conversationally, instinctively trying to busy his hands with the chess pieces, mostly to prevent himself from doing anything else he would come to regret later on.

Spock did not reply at first. He began arranging the chess pieces on the board. When Kirk realised that he was doing so with reference to their previous unfinished game, courtesy of his eidetic memory, he leaned back, not interfering with the swift dance of fingers and chess pieces across the chessboard.

“Fatigued but adequate,” Spock admitted as he finally glanced up from the board. “The healing trance was considerably more taxing than usual, likely a result of my already fatigued mind. I regret that I was unprepared for the length and intensity of the telepathic contact with the Sea-dwellers.”   

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” The words felt decidedly inadequate in the face of almost losing him. Quashing the desire to reach across the board for him, Kirk changed the subject slightly. “I wonder how the Arkians would adjust to telepathic communication, considering how they’ve been more or less psi-null in their life.”

Spock raised a brow. “I would estimate that, like humans, the Arkians would find it in themselves to be adaptable to new changes. The High Councillor’s son, for instance, proved to be highly adaptable when presented with confirmation of his true heritage and the unpleasant truth of how the people who raised him had relentlessly persecuted the people he was related to genetically.”

“Ah, Como.” Kirk averted his gaze. He found that he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to continue the sentence. Suddenly, he was a lot less sure about what he had been planning to do; professing the feelings he had long harboured for his First right after such a harrowing mission seemed untimely, to say the least, particularly in the face of certain elements that must hit close to home for his half-Vulcan First. He ought to feel gratified that Spock had, by all accounts, found a kindred spirit but all he could feel was a sort of hollowness in his chest.

He only realised that Spock was still speaking when a long-fingered hand grasping a pawn moved into his field of view. “A remarkable individual with an extraordinary reserve of strength and compassion.”

He looked up. The steady way Spock was regarding him when he uttered those words suggested that he might not solely be referring to the High Councillor’s son anymore. Something in Kirk’s chest loosened. The tiny hope he had been nursing in him flared back into life.

Then, Kirk sobered. “The language of violence and bigotry, so deeply entrenched in their history, will not be easy to overcome.”

Spock inclined his head. “Be that as it may… We have a saying on Vulcan.  _Ma etek natyan teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on_. We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of both of us. There is reason to believe that a union between the two peoples would benefit them both.”

Kirk hid a smile at his optimism. Many would think that Spock would be a realist through and through, and in certain ways, he was. He had found that, despite whatever ugliness or horrors he had been witness to over the years, his First never failed to have endless respect and dare he say, a certain ebullience with regard to diversity and all kinds of life. It was infinitely endearing.

They played in comfortable silence for a while, each basking in the steady presence of the other man.

“Captain, I do believe I would have you checkmated in three,” Spock uttered as he steepled his fingers in front of him.

The posture, the way he looked up through his lashes and how his baritone curled around “Captain” _—_ God, did he have any idea what that did to him  _—_ were all so, so Spock. A thrill ran through him; his brain must have gone offline because the next thing he knew, he was blurting out, “I want to kiss you.” Real smooth, Kirk. That sounded a lot better and a lot less abrupt in his head. “I mean, ah, can I kiss you?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, looking for all the world like a man who solved complex equations with ease on a daily basis but continued to be utterly flummoxed by simple questions of such a nature. Slowly, he returned, “I was under the impression that you already have, Captain.”

Kirk froze, uncharacteristically flustered as he combed through his recent memories and then went further back when nothing came up. Did Vulcan kisses count? Accidental brushes of fingers aside, the only significant event he could think of was when he and Spock clasped hands a couple of weeks ago but that didn't really count since he was in Lester’s body at the time and it was an emergency, right?

Oh. That damn underwater kiss, if it could even be called a kiss. He never quite understood why people called it the kiss of life when there was nothing even vaguely romantic or sexy about keeping the other party breathing through sheer power of will alone.

“Spock, that’s different and you know it,” he returned just a little defensively. He would prefer to hold and kiss the man under slightly less harrowing circumstances, yes. Just thinking of how close he had been to losing him made his chest tighten and his throat close up all over again.

Spock still looked vaguely unimpressed. “To my knowledge, a Terran kiss constitutes labial contact, although not necessarily for prolonged periods of time. I estimate that we maintained labial contact for at least three minutes, perhaps more after I lost consciousness, which is already longer than _—_ ”

Kirk held up a hand to forestall further elaboration. He would rather not think about those agonising few moments, thank you. But why was he bringing this up?

Wait. Was Spock sassing him? Spock cocked his head to one side, expression serene. That damn bastard, he totally was! Kirk felt a grin creeping over his face, the knot in his chest loosening.

“Well, I’ve been told I’m an equal opportunist. According to you, we’ve kissed the Terran way,” he paused, as if to ponder his words. “Seems like I haven’t been living up to that title, have I?” Kirk was full-out flirting back, hand reaching across the chessboard but carefully watching Spock for any adverse reaction. He had generally grown to read Spock quite well but he didn’t want to force him into doing something he didn’t want to, even if it was something as small as a Vulcan kiss.

Curling his thumb over his ring finger and pinky, he extended his index and middle finger, lightly caressing the back of Spock’s fingers.

“Captain, our game,” Spock demurred. They both knew that it was a token protest from the way he turned his palm upward, fingers curling around Kirk’s, a green-tinged flush already spreading over his cheeks.

“Jim, Spock. Call me Jim. I think we’re past “Captain” a long time ago.” The laughing glint in Spock’s eyes, however, told him that his First was well aware of what he was doing. Why, that little sneak!

Well, two could play at this game.

A burst of pleasure ricocheted around the point of contact as Kirk stroked his fingers into the sensitive skin of Spock’s open palm. Spock’s fingers stuttered in the air. He couldn’t tell if the tremour in his hand was a reaction to Kirk’s actions or a residual effect of the attack. He was inclined to believe that it was a little bit of both. Exact percentages eluded him for the moment.

“Good?” Kirk asked, voice low and intimate.

“Very, Captain. Surprisingly so, I might add,” Spock returned once he could trust his voice to be steady. He was not about to give his captain the satisfaction of reducing him to monosyllabic answers just yet.  

The fingers that had been lightly caressing his palm halted and Kirk’s eyes narrowed; a thought seemed to pass through his head. The fingers left his palm for a moment as the captain got up from his seat. He had not even realised that they were still seated across the table; the miniscule action of intimacy had drawn them close despite the physical distance between them.

Spock barely had a moment to feel illogically bereft before Kirk was already circling round the table to him. On autopilot, he rose to meet his captain and was rewarded by Kirk’s large hands carefully framing the contours of his face. He leaned involuntarily into one palm, content to just be in the moment.

“Mister Spock.” Kirk’s voice was gravel against the rough hewn stones of the steps of Gol. “I’m going to ask again. Can I kiss you?”

A thrill ran through him at the request. “Yes, Jim. Yes.” He was aware of the redundancy of repeating his reply but he found that he could not bring himself to be concerned.  

And then Kirk was kissing him, soft and sweet and close-mouthed. It was nothing like the way he sealed his mouth over his as the two of them hung dead in the water. Yet, there was, again, that same carefully veiled desperation in the way Kirk nipped at the seam of his mouth.

He was only vaguely aware of Kirk’s fingers trailing down his neck and shoulders, the soft pressure of finger pads imprinting themselves against the small of his back. Then, the sensation of cool Human fingers massaging into his skin, somehow having wormed under both his tunic and undershirt.

The combined sensation of both Terran and Vulcan kisses proved to be utterly fascinating. Positively intoxicating.

“Bed,” Spock gasped out. He was not proud of how quickly his captain had reduced him to monosyllabic words. It appeared that he had spoken a little too soon. There was nothing commonplace about this situation, however. Kirk, on the other hand, looked positively smug.  

The man continued drawing illogical patterns  _—_ he could be drawing the Fibonacci sequence for all he knew, he could not be certain at this point, nor was he, he found, interested in finding out at the moment  _—_ onto the skin at the small of his back, even as he began walking them both toward the bed without breaking contact. A most impressive feat of balance and multi-tasking. His controls must not have fully recovered from over-exposure to the telepathic minds of the Sea-dwellers because some of his thoughts must have bled through, and in turn, Kirk’s vague amusement drifted through the skin-on-skin contact.  

They only bumped into the divider once on their way to the bed, Kirk huffing a laugh into the corner of Spock’s mouth as their noses bumped together. The relatively impeccable sense of balance only lasted till the back of Spock’s knees bumped unceremoniously against the bed - Kirk’s bed, a voice in his mind somehow found it relevant to remind him - and he all but toppled backward. His descent was thankfully slowed and cushioned by familiar hands on his back and the nape of his neck. His captain had remarkably quick reflexes.

He felt both of his eyebrows climb up his forehead as Kirk knelt between his legs, still planted firmly on the ground.

Perhaps sensing his gaze on him, Kirk looked up and caught his eye, the knowing gleam in his eye somehow diminished by the telltale flush that suffused his cheeks.

“Trust me, you’re going to want to take these off before we, ah, continue.” He motioned to Spock’s boots.

Then, carefully  _—_ dare he say, almost worshipfully  _—_ he divested him of said boots and his socks. Spock was pleasantly surprised when Kirk set his boots down by the edge of the bed with great care. Kirk was noticeably less careful with his own, tossing each one of them down with a thump as he slid them quickly off his feet along with his socks.

Spock’s mouth ran dry when he realised that he intended to divest himself of his uniform shirt as well. Kirk’s gold tunic and undershirt soon joined his socks and boots in a scattered mess at the other side of the bed. Kirk himself joined Spock on the bed, guiding them both a little closer to the headboard.

“Mm, you gonna be cold?” Kirk asked as he began to ruck up Spock’s own tunic with one hand, the other splayed over his stomach that was still clad in his undershirt. “Computer, raise temperatures _—_ ”

Feeling bold, Spock reached up and placed two fingers against Kirk’s lips in a bid to silence him. “You worry too much, Jim.”

A playful gleam entered Kirk’s eyes. Wisely, he did not respond verbally; instead, he nipped lightly at the pads of his fingers, throwing in just a little teeth.

Spock shuddered but did not withdraw his fingers. As Kirk started placing delicate kisses along the sides of his fingers, with his other hand, Spock attempted to trail a hand along the uncharted topography of Kirk’s bare chest to reciprocate. However, he found his hand to be uncooperative, wracked with tremours of an intensity that had not been present since his time in Sickbay.

“A... A moment,” Spock managed, frustration gritting his teeth and tensing his muscles further.

As soon as he stilled one hand with the other, a spasm in his shoulder, followed by a stronger one in his side, had him shaking again.

“Hey.” Kirk stopped, propping himself up with hands on either side of Spock’s face, palms down on the bed. “We can take this slow. We don't even have to do this at all. Heck, Bones and M’Benga would probably have my hide for trying to get you into bed right after your release from Sickbay.” He affected a nonchalant laugh. “That wouldn’t do at all, would it?”

In the dim, red-tinted light, Kirk’s face was the canvas for a fascinating play of shadows. Spock searched for hesitation, or perhaps regret, in his captain’s gaze but only found concern and soft affection. He was cognizant of the fact that Kirk was deliberately giving him an out, so as to speak, and he found that it made him desire him, desire this, even more than he already had.

“You mistake the unfortunate side effects of my injuries for hesitation.” Spock struggled to keep his voice even. He found himself searching deep for the right words. “I have… I have wanted this for a time.”  

“I know,” Kirk murmured, gazing down at him. Slowly, as if not to spook him, or at least, to give him sufficient time to react, he rolled carefully off him, and propped himself up on one elbow, eyes still not leaving his face. He barely fit within the edges of the bed but he did not seem to care.

Spock realised with a start that Kirk was soothing a hand gently up and down his bicep.

“You okay?” Kirk asked. “Hey, c’mon. Look at me. Please?”  

He raised his gaze _—_ he had not realised he had averted it  _—_ and met hazel eyes. “My apologies. I believe the episode has passed.”

Kirk looked like he wanted to say more but all he did was nudge his shoulder with a hand. “Scoot over for a bit.” Spock dutifully complied, as much as the confines of the bed  _—_ already larger than the average Starfleet-issued fare but not exactly built for two grown men  _—_ allowed him to.

A few moments and several rearrangements of limbs later, Kirk drew Spock into his arms such that Spock half-laid on his arm, head resting in the crook of his neck.

“Down there on the planet,“ Kirk began and stopped. Spock felt rather than heard the shuddering breath, first deep in his chest, and then as a brush of air against the top of his head. “I was out of my mind with worry when you got hurt. When we lost you, I was just about ready to throw the mission to hell and go after you.”

“But you did not,” Spock reassured as he pillowed his head on Kirk’s shoulder instead so he might gaze up at him. “Command training and your own sense of duty would not allow you to jeopardise the mission and the lives of so many. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”  

It appeared that his statement failed to have the intended reassuring effect. If anything, his captain appeared more troubled, a small frown creasing his brow.

“It shouldn’t have to,” Kirk returned, his voice soft but the bitter wistfulness was apparent.

The moment lapsed into an uneasy silence. Kirk’s grip on Spock’s hip tightened, as if he could hold Spock with him for good by sheer power of will and physical contact alone.

“I must admit that I had shared similar sentiments while we were separated,” Spock confessed after a time, turning his face once again into the crook of Kirk’s neck. He did not want Kirk to see his face, to discern the emotions even he could not control.  A cool hand came up to soothe at the line of his jaw. “Illogical as it was, I found myself wondering about alternative outcomes had we shared a mind-link.” A pause, and then closing his eyes, he ploughed on, “or a bond.” Shame suffused his being at the longing that rose, unbidden, in him at the mere thought.

“Is… Is that what you need? What you want?” Kirk asked, uncertain. The fingers at his jaw stilled.

He reached up a hand, covering Kirk’s with his. “It is not necessary.”  

“But it is desirable,” Kirk finished for him, hand curling chastely around his and bringing their clasped hands to his chest.

A beat, and then Kirk asked, “meld with me?”

“Jim.” Spock started, uncharacteristically flustered. “You are… you are certain?”

Kirk’s shoulder shifted from beneath him as he turned on his side to face him, still grasping his hand. Kirk’s gaze was searching; slowly, he raised Spock’s hand, clasped in his, to his own temple, arranging it in the approximation of the grip necessary to initiate the mind meld.

“Just to make this clear, this isn’t about making us work better as Captain and First Officer. We’re already the best damn command team in Starfleet,” Kirk asserted, then his tone softened. “This is about you and me, about us.”

Spock’s fingers trembled minutely at Kirk’s temples but held steady. Kirk’s hand came up to steady his hand.

“Your mind to my mind, your thoughts to my thoughts…”

They fell into the meld, and into each other.

* * *

The OD doors opened on a whoosh of air as Kirk stepped through. It was louder than he remembered it to be, although whether it was a result of the residual effects of last night’s meld (his sensory perceptions had been heightened by just a fraction after melding with Spock, something he was assured was temporary and unlikely to occur with repeated melds; the exhilarating prospect of repeating the experience of a mind-meld with Spock was still something he was trying to wrap his mind around, pun unintended) or the quietude of the generally unoccupied OD was unclear. Well, unoccupied except for the lone figure by the OD window.

He paused for a moment on the threshold, quietly giving the authorisation code to lock down the OD and then covered the rest of the distance with quick, long strides. He watched as his reflection drew up next to Spock’s, a sense of calm settling over him.

So much had transpired since he  _—_ no, they _—_ had been in this room. Everything had changed but in some way, nothing had at all.

“Fancy meeting you here, mister,” Kirk started, eyes still trained on his First’s silhouette in the window. With a start, he realised that calling Spock his First was more than appropriate; if every Starfleet Captain had not been first married to his or her ship, the Vulcan who stood beside him would have surpassed all else in his mind, heart, and soul. In any case, weren’t Captains said to be married to their First Officers in some way to begin with? It felt only natural for them to have gotten to where they were now.

The gravity of the moment fled for the time being as Kirk had to stifle a chuckle at the way Spock’s eyebrow predictably took a hike up his forehead.  

“Captain,” Spock began, and then as Kirk watched with wonder, his gaze  _—_  his whole posture, too, to someone who knew Spock well enough (and after last night, hell, after these past few years serving together, he damn well qualified)  _—_   softened. “Jim, might I remind you that you were the one who requested to see me here after your shift?”

The gleam in his eyes belied the admonishment in his words.

“Hey, must I have an excuse to see my First now?” Kirk teased back, gently nudging an elbow into Spock’s side. Spock didn’t make an overt response but his quiet acquiescence to Kirk’s jibing was an answer in itself.

His smile faded slightly. Bones did say that the residual tremours, especially in those sensitive hands of his, would fade with time but if last night was any indication, Spock still hadn’t quite fully recovered yet. Wordlessly, Kirk reached out for Spock’s hands, clasped primly behind his back, although he intentionally kept his movements slow and in Spock’s line of sight, such that he could easily move away or stop him with a look or a word if he felt uncomfortable. Somehow, despite having been in the Vulcan’s mind and body, Kirk felt strangely shy with just the simple act of holding Spock’s hands in his.

Spock exhaled a little shakily as their hands made contact.

“You okay?” Kirk asked, giving Spock’s hands a gentle squeeze. The tremours seemed to have diminished somewhat since last night, when his fingers had shaken so much that he almost couldn’t maintain his grip at Kirk’s temples to initiate the meld, and later, continued to tremble as Kirk held his hands above his head while nipping at his throat. Although the latter might not be an altogether accurate representation, considering how there were, ah, other factors coming into play then.

“I am well, Jim.” His concern must have been evident in his voice because Spock actually returned his gesture. “As I have been for the past five times that you have raised the same line of inquiry since we awoke this morning.”

Kirk laughed. Ah, there was his proper, pedantic Vulcan. He trailed one of his hands up Spock’s shoulder, and rested his palm against his face; he hid a grin at the way Spock immediately leaned into his palm.

“Well, as your captain and your…” Kirk struggled valiantly not to flush (he had no idea how Spock could turn him from a silver-tongued starship captain into a flustered mess without so much as a look) and pressed on, “lover, I think I’m allowed to worry as much as I want, mister.”

The passing gleam of starlight, simulated as it was, cast the planes of his First’s face into sharp relief. Trailing his gaze over the beloved visage, Kirk’s breath caught in his throat. He sobered up.  

“You know how much I, ah, appreciate you right?” He murmured, trying his damnedest not to stumble over his words. Those three words lingered on the tip of his tongue but somehow he didn’t want to sound too presumptuous; he wasn’t sure how a Vulcan might react to an emotional admission of such intensity. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear himself voice such an emotional admission.

“I cherish thee, ashayam.” The way Spock’s gaze warmed and the way the deep timbre of his voice curled around those four words dispelled any doubts he could have had. In fact, the warmth that spread through him at the unexpected confession left no room for any shame he felt for not having spoken those three words to Spock in the first place.

His other hand came up to cradle Spock’s face; he was sure the look in his eyes was indication enough for what he was about to do but Spock only leaned into his palm, eyes bright, gaze steady. Kirk leaned in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss against Spock’s lips. As Spock kissed back with equal fervour, Kirk nipped playfully at the seam of his mouth until his partner gave in with a soft exhale.

They kissed languidly for a good few moments, and only broke apart, breathless  _—_ with laughter on Kirk’s part, and short exhalations of breath that was the Vulcan equivalent of laughter on Spock’s part  _—_ when Kirk felt his hip bump into a hard, metallic surface. Somehow, between kisses, they had migrated to lean against the ledge, just shy of the OD window. To his knowledge, it wasn't meant to hold the weight of a crewmember, much less the combined weight of a human and a half-Vulcan, but he had faith in his sturdy silver lady.

“Stay with me for a time?” Kirk murmured as he backed himself up against the window, bracing his hip against the ledge. As he did so, he touched a hand to Spock’s jawline, the other hand stroking down his back, urging him to lean into the bracket of his legs.

As he wrapped his arms carefully around Spock, he felt, rather than heard, the reverberations of that well-loved baritone. “For as long as you wish, t’hy’la.”

For the first time in his life, Kirk found himself believing, with all the certainty of tides, that there would always be a place for him  _—_ for them  _—_ among the stars, with Spock by his side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a helluva ride, with many unexpected firsts - first long plotty fic, first fic with OCs, first time entering a fic challenge/collection. Thank you for coming aboard on this little journey with me <3 As always, comments (and kudos) would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Also, hmu on Tumblr at [picturelyuniverse](https://picturelyuniverse.tumblr.com) for ST content and headcanons, possible sneak peeks into the next fic I'm working on, a Star Trek bending (as in the elemental bending in ATLA/LOK) fusion AU, or just to chat! Love y'all <3
> 
> Last but definitely not the least, check out the next chapter for more of ghostwise's art! Please give the character profiles done for Darya and Como some much-deserved love <3 


	8. character profiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out these gorgeous character profile pieces of Como and Darya by ghostwise!

Lieutenant Darya of the USS Enterprise

 

Como of Ark


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